THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


THE 

CARPENTER  AND  HIS  FAMILY. 

ALSO, 


PRIDE    SUBDUED. 


BY  THE  AUTHOR  OF 

'  The  Black  Velvet  Bracelet,"  «  Annette  Warington,"  "  Willaon 
Avery,"  &.C.  &c. 


.  • 

BOSTON: 

LIGHT   AND   HORTON. 
1835. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1835, 
BY  LIGHT  AND  HORTON, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  Massachusetts. 


CARPENTER  AND  HIS  FAMILY. 


THE  CARPENTER  AND  HIS  FAMILY. 


CHAPTER  I. 

PEEVISHNESS    AND   ILL   HUMOR. 

"On  dear !  I  never  shall  get  this  long,  long 
side  hemmed.  I  know  I  shall  not,  as  long 
as  I  live,"  exclaimed  little  Louisa,  impa- 
tiently stretching  out  a  sheet  she  had  been 
listlessly  holding,  and  on  which  she  occa- 
sionally sewed  a  few  stitches. 

"And  why  not,  my  little  sister?"  replied 
a  lovely  girl  who  sat  drawing  at  a  small  table 
on  the  right  of  Louisa,  while  another  young 
pupil,  diligently  engaged  with  her  needle, 
occupied  a  low  seat  on  her  left.  "Why 
not,  my  little  sister  ?  Mary  comes  on  rapidly 
with  hers ;  and  she  had  no  more  of  it  done 
than  you  had  this  morning :  you  began  at 
the  same  time." 
1* 


6  THE  CARPENTER 

"  Mary  is  older  than  I  am,  a  great  deal," 
said  Louisa. 

"You  thought  this  difference  'very  tri- 
fling' yesterday,  I  think,  Louisa,  when  your 
aunt  said  she  would  give  the  orange  tree  in 
the  pretty  vase  to  the  oldest,  as  she  had  not 
one  for  each.  Now  in  this  case,  it  really  is 
not  worth  considering,  since  Mary  learned  to 
sew  at  the  same  time  with  yourself;  not  a 
month  earlier,  you  know,  on  account  of  her 
previous  ill  health.  Your  difference  of  age, 
therefore,  furnishes  no  excuse  for  your  dif- 
ference of  progress." 

"Well,"  said  Louisa  with  an  expostulating 
tone,  "  her  needle  does  not  trouble  her  so  all 
the  time,  as  mine  does  me.  It  is  so  rusty 
with  the  warmth  of  my  hand,  that  I  cannot 
push  it  through  at  all,  scarcely;"  and  Louisa 
gave  the  unfortunate  needle  so  passionate 
a  thrust,  as  to  break  it  in  twain  immediately. 

"Have  you  no  emery  cushion,  Louisa?" 
inquired  Augusta.  "  Mary,  I  see,  passes 
her  needle  through  the  emery  cushion  every 
time  she  threads  it,  and  by  that  care  pre- 
vents the  trouble  of  which  you  complain. 
You  were  taught  to  do  the  same ;  why  do 
you  neglect  it?" 


AND   HIS   FAMILY.  7 

"  I  had  a  cushion  when  school  began,"- 
replied  Louisa  peevishly,  "  but  it  has  got 
away  somehow.  I  have  looked  all  about 
this  half  hour  for  it,  and  I  can't  spend  any 
more  time  about  the  silly  thing.  Beside,  I 
have  broken  my  needle  now,  and  it  will  do 
no  good." 

Augusta  sighed,  and  was  about  to  speak ; 
but  before  she  could  do  so,  Louisa  prevented 
her. 

"  Then,  beside,  Mary's  thread  is  not  all 
the  time  breaking  ;  mine  keeps  getting  into 
knots,  and  then  I  am  obliged  to  break  it, 
and  join  on  again,  every  minute  almost ; 
and  Mary  seems  to  sew  right  straight  on, 
as  easy" 

"And  yet,  my  little  girl,"  said  Augusta 

gently,  "  your  sister's  thread  was  wound 
from  your  own  ball.  It  is  your  own  listless, 
idle  feelings — your  fretful  impatience,  which 
thus  obstructs  your  progress  and  causes  you 
such  continual  difficulties." 

"  Well,  aTiy  body  would  be  impatient  to 
be  so  troubled  as  I  am,"  retorted  Louisa ; — 
"  and  only  see  now  what  a  great  long  side 
it  is; — there,  I  will  just  measure  it,"  she 


8  THE   CARPENTER 

continued,  seizing  the  yard-stick  which  lay 
upon  the  table,  and  in  the  movement  throw- 
ing over  a  glass  of  water  in  which  Augusta 
had  dipped  her  brushes,  spilling  its  contents 
quite  over  the  sheet  she  was  sewing. 

"Why  do  you  waste  your  time  thus, 
Louisa?"  said  Augusta,  drawing  back  has- 
tily from  the  stream  of  water.  "  You  make 
yourself,  and  every  one  around  you,  un- 
comfortable. Recollect,  your  mother  told 
you  that  these  sheets  must  be  done,  and 
well  done,  this  morning,  if  you  would  ride 
with  her  after  dinner.  And  though  she  was 
in  great  haste,  she  gave  yoii  no  more  than 
she  knew  you  could  perfectly  well  accom- 
plish if  you  pleased.  If  the  appointed  por- 
tion is  not  done,  therefore,  by  the  time  the 
carriage  is  at  the  door,  you  will  assuredly 
remain  at  home ;,  and  I  assure  you,  you  will 
lose  a  great  pleasure.  This  was  your  moth- 
er's express  condition,  with  which  you  are 
well  able  to  comply.  You  have  chosen  to 
waste  one  precious  hour,  duving  which 
Mary  has  accomplished  a  third  of  her 
work,  by  steady  industry.  Why  will  you 
not  imitate  this  good  spirit  ?" 


r  "       AND    HIS    FAMILY.  9 

Louisa  did  not  answer,  but  still  looked 
ill-tempered,  and  continued  to  measure  the 
piece  she  had  to  sew.. 

"  Louisa,  my  dear  little  girl,  you  will  be 
very  sorry  for  this  naughty  conduct  pres- 
ently," said  Augusta  kindly,  "when  the 
afternoon  comes,  and  we  go  upon  a  pleasant 
excursion  without  you,  and  leave  you  quite 
alone.  We  shall  all  be  sorry  to  think  of 
you,  working  here  by  yourself,  with  a 
grieved  heart  condemning  you  all  the  while ; 
and  we  are  going  upon  such  a" 

"  It  is  a  great  deal  too  long  a  piece ! " 

interrupted  Lonisa,  laying  down  the  mea- 
sure. "  There ! — there  is  two  yards  and  so 
much  over  to  do  yet ;  and  I  know  I  cannot 
get  it  done.  Besides,  I  have  broken  my 
needle  now ;  and  the  work  is  all  wet,  too." 

"I  will  give  you  a  new  bright  needle, 
which  is  not  the  least  rusty,  my  dear,"  said 
Augusta,  smiling  pleasantly  to  win  back 
the  good  humor  which  seemed  to  have 
nearly  forsaken  the  young  bosom.  "  In  the 
mean  time,  go  to  my  washstand  and  bathe 
your  warm  hands.  Find  your  emery  cush- 
ion, and  secure  it  properly  at  your  side,  and 


10  THE    CARPENTER 

then  we  will  begin  anew.  Your  work  will 
•soon  dry." 

During  this  dialogue;  the  little  Mary  had 
steadily  pursued  her  work ;  her  eye  intent, 
and  her  slender  fingers,  though  they  could 
not  move  with  the  celerity  she  wished,  yet 
by  industrious  employment  had  accumu- 
lated the  fine  stitches,  until  they  already 
stretched  over  nearly  half  the  appointed 
task,  which  still  appeared  so  formidable  to 
her  impatient  sister. 

"I  know  I  cannot  do  it,  very  well," 
murmured  Louisa  pettishly,  as  she  slowly 
obeyed  the  directions  of  hersister. 

"  If  you  are  resolved  that  you  cannot,  and 
will  not  even  try,  certainly  that  consequence 
is  inevitable,"  said  Augusta;  "  and  I  hope 
you  are  prepared  for  all  others  that  will 
follow  in  the  train." 

"I  don't  care  anything  about  riding," 
said  Louisa,  proudly  brushing  back  the 
clustering  curls  from  her  flushed  face,  for 
her  naughty  temper  was  by  no  means  sub- 
dued, even  by  the  forgiving  kindness  of  her 
gentle  and  patient  sister.  "  Beside,"  she 
continued,  "I  don't  see  at  all  why  mother 


AND    HIS    FAMILY. 


11 


said  that  I  should  not  go  without  this  sheet 
was  finished  ;  as  if  I  could  not  do  it  just  as 
well  to-morrow,  and  better  too,  a  great  deal ; 
for  then  my  work  will  be  all  fitted  to  begin 
with  in  the  morning,  and  my  hands  will  be 
cool ;  and  I  am  sure  my  mother  need  not  be 
in  such  a  hurry  for  these  particular  sheets, 
(coarse  things  they  are,  too,)  when  she  has 
a  trunk  quite  full  of  nice  fine  ones — for  I  saw 
them  myself  yesterday,  when  she  was  turn- 
ing them  over  for  half  an  hour  almost.  But 
she  has  said  the  word,  that  they  must  be 
done  to-day: — I  am  sure  I  don't  know  for 
what." 

"  Have  you  finished  your  angry,  disre- 
spectful speech,  Louisa?"  said  Augusta 
reprovingly.  "  It  ought  always  to  be  a 
sufficient  reason  for  you,  that  your  mother 
has  so  ordered  it ;  because  you  know,  from 
experience  of  her  goodness,  that  she  never 
bids  you  do  anything  without  an  object,  or 
without  considering  your  ability  to  comply. 
But  I  will  on  this  occasion,  (as  indeed  I  had 
intended  long  since,  and  should,  but  for  the 
interruptions  of  your  temper,) — I  will  ex- 
plain her  reasons  fully;  and  I  trust  they 


12  THE   CARPENTER 

will  make  you  blush  for  your  presumptuous 
doubts  of  your  mother's  judgment,  as  well 
as  for  your  own  ill  humor,  for  which  I  con- 
fess I  feel  truly  grieved.  I  thought  your 
angry  temper  would  long  since  have  yielded 
to  forbearing  kindness.  I  am  greatly  pained 
to  find  that  you  cherish  the  uncomfortable 
guest,  and  will  not  even  try  to  subdue  it." 

Louisa  blushed,  but  still  retained  the  low- 
ering brow,  while  the  sweet  smile  which 
generally  dimpled  her  happy  mouth,  ap- 
peared to  have  fled  forever. 

"  But,"  continued  Augusta,  "  at  least 
attend  to  your  work  while  I  tell  you  the 
story, — for  it  is  something  of  a  story  which 
I  must  relate.  You  can  listen  to  it  quite  as 
attentively  without  laying  down  your  sew- 
ing to  look  at  me,  you  know ;  and,  possibly, 
when  I  have  concluded,  you  may  rejoice  in 
your  progress,  and  need  no  more  urging  to 
industry." 

Louisa  took  up  her  work  tardily,  and  her 
sister  began  the  promised  recital  without 
farther  delay. 


AND   HIS   FAMILY.  13 

CHAPTER  II. 

THE    STORY   OF   MRS.    OSBORN. 

"  BOTH  of  you  well  know  the  poor  wo- 
man who,  for  the  last  year,  has  taken  the 
washing  of  our  family.  She  has  several 
little  children,  the  oldest  of  whom,  a  fine 
intelligent  looking  boy,  is  unhappily  both 
deaf  and  dumb,  and,  of  course,  quite  una- 
ble to  take  care  of  himself.  The  other  two 
are  under  four  years  of  age.  Yet  it  has  been 
almost  exclusively  by  her  own  unceasing 
labor,  that  this  family  has  been  latterly 
supported — labor,  which,  you  may  easily 
suppose,  must  be  greatly  interrupted  by  the 
necessary  attention  to  her  little  helpless 
children. 

"Mr.  Osborn,  who  is  a  carpenter,  and  an 
excellent,  ingenious  workman,  might  easily 
sustain  his  family  above  want,  if  not  in 
competency,  but  for  a  miserable  habit  he 
has  contracted  of  drinking  immoderately, 
which  drains  away  all  the  fruits  of  his  in- 
dustry, and  must,  I  fear,  ultimately  leave 
2 


14  THE    CARPENTER 

them  destitute.  Yet  when  he  is  sober,  he 
is  a  kind  and  affectionate  husband,  and 
appears  to  love  his  children  fondly.  And 
when  he  keeps  at  home,  he  is  generally 
steady ;  for  he  knows  he  has  a  good  and 
faithful  wife,  who  never  reproaches  him, 
and  is  attentive  to  all  his  wants,  and  so 
obliging  and  gentle,  that  his  evil  propensi- 
ties seem  to  be  restrained  in  her  presence, 
by  the  power  of  her  virtue.  Sometimes, 
however,  he  gets  employment  for  months 
in  the  neighboring  towns,  where  good  work- 
men are  scarce ;  and  then  it  is  that  bad  ex- 
ample, frequent  temptations,  a  weak  head, 
and  weaker  principles,  lead  him  soon  into 
bad  company,  and  evil  indulgences.  Poor, 
wicked  man  ! " 

As  Augusta  proceeded,  and  Louisa's  at- 
tention was  drawn  from  the  magnitude  of 
the  task  before  her,  and  the  various  hard- 
ships of  industry,  she  had  sewed  on  easily, 
without  trouble  from  the  "rusting  of  her 
needle,"  or  the  "knotting  of  her  thread." 
The  work  seemed  at  once  to  have  become 
smooth  and  simple,  the  flush  faded  from 
her  cheek,  and  the  angry  sparkle  vanished 


AND   HIS   FAMILY.  15 

from  her  eye.  She  was  no  longer  nourish- 
ing, by  indulgence,  the  passions,  which 
come  so  readily  at  the  first  bidding.  Her 
sister  observed  with  satisfaction  the  sub- 
siding of  these  ungentle  and  uncomfortable 
feelings ;  but  for  a  time  she  forbore  to  no- 
tice it  to  her. 

"  For  the  last  few  months,"  continued 
Augusta,  "  Mr;  Osborn  has  been  engaged 
with  many  others  upon  the  new  church  at 
B ,  which,  you  recollect,  we  were  notic- 
ing in  our  drive  through  the  town  last 
week.  His  poor  wife  was  cherishing  strong 
hopes  of  better  days,  from  the  circumstance 
of  his  sending  her  once  or  twice  a  small 
portion  of  his  earnings ;  but  alas  !  the  trials 
of  this  worthy  woman  have  indeed  been 
multiplied  most  dreadfully.  The  day  be- 
fore yesterday,  your  mother  went  to  see 
her,  as  she  has  often  done  before,  to  carry 
her  some  work  to  do,  and  to  inquire  into 
her  situation,  and  the  wants  which  she 
might  relieve.  She  found  her  overwhelmed 
with  distress,  weeping  piteously,  yet  busy- 
ing herself  in  setting  her  miserable  little 
cabin  in  order,  in  the  best  manner  she 


16  THE    CARPENTER 


could.  Upon  inquiring  into  her  circum- 
stances, your  mother  learned,  that  her  hus- 
band, being  at  work  upon  the  staging  of  the 
church,  and  probably  not  quite  sober,  had 
fallen  from  a  considerable  height  and  crush- 
ed himself  most  shockingly.  He  had  been 
taken  up  alive,  however,  and.  it  was  sup- 
posed would  linger  sometime.  This  news 
was  brought  to  the  poor  woman  on  the  night 
previous  to  your  mother's  visit,  with  the 
additional  intelligence,  that  his  employers 
were  sending  him  by  the  easiest  conveyance 
to  his  family,  and  that  he  would  probably 
reach  them  by  Thursday  night." 

"  This  is  Thursday — to-day  is  Thursday, 
sister,"  said  Louisa. 

"Yes,  my  dear,  and  this  evening  the 
poor  mangled,  suffering  husband,  whom  she 
yet  tenderly  loves,  notwithstanding  his  great 
fault,  will  probably  reach  his  afflicted  wife. 
Your  mother  found  her  weighed  down,  not 
only  by  this  calamity,  but  from  apprehend- 
ing a  host  of  bitter  consequences.  '  How 
am  I  to  support  them  all?'  said  she  in  a 
burst  of  grief.  '  How  can  I  earn  their  bread, 
with  these  new  cares  upon  my  hands  ?  and 


AND   HIS   FAMILY.  17 

yet  I  cannot — no,  I  cannot  see  my  poor  John 
suffer  for  attendance,  and  not  give  it  to  him. 
He  must  be  made  as  comfortable  as  with 
such  wounds  he  can  be,  while  I  yet  have 
him  with  me.  He  was  a  kind,  good  hus- 
band to  me,  ma'am,  when  he  knew  what  he 
was  about ;  and  I  am  sure  he  was  doing 
better,  and  giving  up  his  bad  courses  when 
this  dreadful  accident  happened.  But,  Oh 
dear,  dear ! — I  do  n't  know  what  I  am  to  do, 
for  I  have  not  wherewith  to  make  him  up  a 
decent  bed  to  die  upon ! '  exclaimed  the  poor 
woman,  clasping  her  hands  in  the  bitterness 
of  her  afflicted  soul." 

"  Your  dear  mother,"  continued  Augusta, 
"  spake  comfort  to  her,  and  promised  that 
they  should  all  be  fed  and  taken  care  of  until 
he  was  able  to  work  as  usual;  and  that 
her  immediate  wants  should  be  attended  to 
without  delay ;  and  she  did  not  leave  the 
poor  woman  until  she  had  eased  her  heart 
of  a  heavy  burden.  Alas  !  as  much  re- 
mained as  she  could  well  endure. 

"Since  that  hour,  we  have  both  been 
steadily  engaged  in  making  the  necessary 
provision  for  the  arrival  of  the  sufferer;  (for 


18  THE   CARPENTER 

truly  Mrs.  Osborn's  house  was  destitute  of 
every  comfort  or  convenience.)  In  looking 
over  the  '  large  trunk  of  bed  linen/  Louisa, 
to  select  such  things  as  were  proper  for  the 
purpose,  we  found  all  much  too  large  and 
delicate  for  such  uses,  and  judged  that 
some  newer  and  stronger  might  be  got  in 
readiness,  with  the  active  assistance  of  our 
little  girls,  against  the  appointed  time.  Af- 
ter dinner,  they  must  be  conveyed,  with  the 
beds  and  bedding,  to  the  house,  that  before 
night  everything  may  be  prepared.  John 
cannot  reach  this  place  before  five,  at 
soonest. 

"  That  her  dear  little  girls,  whom  she 
wishes  to  associate  in  every  pleasure  she 
enjoys,  more  particularly  in  the  pure  de- 
lights of  benevolence,  might  partake  in  this 
also,  your  kind  mother  has  given  you  a 
part  to  perform,  and  promised  you  also  the 
pleasure  of  riding  with  her,  when  it  is  ac- 
complished. She  intended  to  take  the  fruits 
of  your  industry  with  us  in  the  carriage, 
rather  than  send  them  with  the  other  arti- 
cles, for  a  twofold  reason  : — first,  that  it 
gave  you  an  hour  longer  to  sew  upon  them, 


AND   HIS   FAMILY.  19 

and  secondly,   that   you  might  have  the 
pleasure  of  bestowing  them  yourselves. 

"  Now,  I  trust,  my  dear  Louisa,  you  see 
a  good  cause  for  the  present  haste,  even  for 
'  these  very  coarse  sheets,'  and  a  sufficient 
reason  why  it  will  not  do  to  postpone  the 
finishing  the  work  until  '  to-morrow.'  You 
must  also  perceive  the  propriety  of  your 
not  accompanying  us,  if,  from  indolence,  or 
ill  temper,  or  any  such  improper  cause, 
you  have  rendered  it  impossible  to  present 
your  offering  with  ours.  You  see  that 
some  of  us  must  finish  what  you  leave  in- 
complete ;  and  your  mother  thought  it  would 
be  too  severe  a  punishment,  even  for  your 
fault,  great  as  it  would  be,  to  render  you  the 
mortified  spectator  of  sufferings  you  could 
not  relieve — of  a  charity  of  which  you  had 
debarred  yourself  from  partaking.  Are  you 
now  satisfied,  my  dear  Louisa,  that  it  is  not 
'  a  great  deal  better  to  leave  the  remainder 
of  your  work  till  to-morrow?'  Are  you  con- 
vinced of  your  mother's  good  judgment,  in 
determining  that  it  must  be  done  before  you 
could  accompany  her,  and  that  you — you 
alone,  are  wrong?" 


20  THE   CARPENTER 

As  Augusta  had  proceeded  in  her  recital 
of  Mrs.  Osborn's  trouble,  all  Louisa's  sym- 
pathies had  been  awakened,  and  her  con- 
science had,  from  time  to  time,  painfully 
reproved  her.  Her  chin  trembled,  and  the 
tear  was  ready  to  start  from  her  full  eye, 
as  much  from  the  conviction  that  she  had 
been  ill-tempered,  and  indolent,  and  unjust 
to  her  kind  mother,  at  the  very  moment, 
too,  when  she  was  providing  for  her  the 
greatest  pleasure,  as  from  the  mournful  de- 
tails of  human  misery  to  which  she  had 
listened ;  and  she  felt  truly  mortified,  hum- 
bled and  unhappy. 


AND   HIS    FAMILY.  21 

CHAPTER  III. 

REPENTANCE    AND   AMENDMENT. 

LONG  before  Augusta  had  finished  her 
account  of  Mrs.  Osbom's  misfortune,  Louisa 
had  resolved  to  redeem  the  time  as  far  as 
that  was  possible;  and,  if  it  were  yet  in 
her  power,  by  any  exertions,  to  accomplish 
her  neglected  task.  Her  little  fingers  had 
long  been  exercised  with  unwonted  zeal,  as 
the  only  atonement  left  her ;  when  there- 
fore Augusta,  laying  down  her  pencil,  and 
smiling  affectionately  upon  the  repentant 
girl,  put  these  last  queries,  the  streams  burst 
from  their  full  fountains  unrestrained,  and 
quick-coming  sighs  heaved  her  young  bo- 
som. 

"  If  she  had  but  told  me ! "  she  at  last 
exclaimed,  brushing  away  the  troublesome 
tears — "I  wish  I  had  only  known  about  it !  " 

"  You  knew  your  duty  pefectly  well, 
Louisa ;  and  should  you  not  have  trusted 
your  mother's  goodness,  without  requiring 
to  know  all  her  motives,  previous  to  obey- 


22  THE   CARPENTER 

ing  her?  Have  you  ever  found  her  un- 
reasonable, unjust,  or  unkind?  Does  she 
not  always  study  your  best  good,  and  con- 
tinually contribute  to  your  happiness?  It 
was  however  her  intention  in  this  case,  that 
you  should  know  all ; — that  you  did  not,  is 
simply  the  effect  of  your  own  impatient 
temper.  Last  evening,  when  our  plans 
were  matured,  and  your  dear  mother  gave 
this  work  into  my  hands,  she  said  to  me — 
'  let  them  have  this  sewing  as  early  as  you 
can  in  the  morning,  Augusta ;  it  is  rather  a 
long  portion  for  them,  but  tell  them,  as  they 
work,  the  object  of  their  industry.  It  will 
render  it  a  pleasant  task,  when  they  know 
it  is  to  relieve  the  afflicted.  And  I  am  sure 
the  recital  of  poor  Mrs.  Osborn's  sufferings, 
her  many  hardships,  will  make  them  thank 
their  heavenly  Father  more  fervently,  for 
his  mercy  to  themselves." 

"And  then  why  didn't  you  tell  us,  Au- 
gusta?" interrupted  Louisa,  with  quickness. 
"If  you  had  only  said  one  word  about 
it"— 

"  Louisa,"  replied  Augusta,  checking 

the  reproachful  inquiry,  "I  began  several 


AND   HIS   FAMILY.  23 

times  to  tell  you.  I  have  tried  vainly  to 
hush  your  murmurings  and  settle  you 
quietly  to  your  work,  that  I  might  have  a 
chance  to  communicate  it.  But  you  have 
constantly  prevented  me.  Beside,  I  thought 
it  right  that  some  small  degree  of  good 
humor  should  precede  the  promise  of  such 
a  pleasure.  I  did  not  wish  to  hire  your 
compliance,  most  certainly.  Such  was  not 
your  mother's  intention ;  but  merely  to  be- 
guile the  hours  of  steady  and  cheerful  de- 
votion to  your  duty." 

Louisa  saw  clearly  that  it  was  herself, 
and  herself  alone,  who  must  be  blamed  for 
all  that  was  wrong;  and  she  felt  exceed- 
ingly sorry  for  her  fault.  She  had  a  tender, 
affectionate  heart,  and  it  was  deeply  touched 
by  the  piteous  story  to  which  she  had 
listened.  It  was  a  soothing,  delightful 
thought  that  she  was  permitted  to  aid  her 
mother  in  relieving  such  sufferings.  And 
she  now  made  her  little  slender  fingers 
speed  along  with  all  possible  despatch,  in 
the  faint  hope  of  yet  completing  the  ne- 
glected work  in  season.  But  time  had  been 
rapidly  passing  on,  while  her  supineness 


24  THE   CARPENTER 

and  indolence  had  been  indulged.  The 
portion  of  sewing  now  to  be  accomplished 
seemed  truly  to  be  more  than  could  reason- 
ably be  expected  of  her  best  exertions ;  and 
her  heart  sunk — when  Mary,  jumping  up 
gaily,  exclaimed — "  Here  sister,  I  have  fin- 
ished it;  and  I  am  very  glad  too,"  she  con- 
tinued, stretching  out  her  weary  limbs,  "for 
I  am  tired  with  sitting  so  long,  and  so  still. 
My  foot  is  quite  asleep;  I  can  scarcely  stand 
upon  it,  it  tingles  so ;  and  my  fingers  ache 
too.  Shall  I  write  now,  Augusta?" 

"No,  my  dear,"  replied  her  sister;  "I 
shall  omit  that  part  of  your  exercise  this 
morning.  You  may  go  now  to  your  mother, 
and  she  will  tell  you  what  to  do  next." 

Mary  had  folded  up  her  work,  put  her 
thread,  needle,  thimble,  and  emery  cushion 
carefully  in  the  pocket  of  her  useful  little 
apron,  and  this  again  was  deposited  in  her 
work-basket ;  and  with  light  steps,  and  a 
lighter  heart,  she  had  reached  the  door, 
when  she  chanced  to  turn,  and  caught  a 
glance  of  the  sad  and  anxious  countenance 
of  her  sister  Louisa,  her  little  hand  eagerly 
pushing  the  needle,  and  trembling  with 


AND   HIS   FAMILY.  25 

its  haste.  A  tear  falling  upon  the  work 
at  the  same  moment,  quite  subdued  poor 
Mary's  heart.  Hastily  closing  the  door, 
and  returning  to  Augusta,  she  asked  earn- 
estly— "Sister,  can't  I  begin  toward  the 
other  end  of  Louisa's  work,  and  help  her  ?  " 
"  That  must  not  be,  my  dear  little  kind 
girl,"  replied  Augusta,  kissing  her  glowing 
cheek,  "your  mother  has  other  duties  for 
you;  beside,  your  sister  could  not  offer  as 
her  own  contribution,  the  work  which  you 
had  done,  you  know.  She  must  herself  per- 
form the  labor,  if  she  would  enjoy  the  re- 
ward of  well-doing.  She  had  the  same  al- 
lowance of  time  which  you  had  ;  and  that 
it  was  amply  sufficient  for  the  purpose,  is 
proved  by  your  having  already  accom- 
plished it.  There  is  yet  a  good  hour  to  din- 
ner, so  that  I  have  no  doubt,  if  she  employs 
it  faithfully,  Louisa  will  yet  have  the  plea- 
sure of  going  with  us.  Go  now,  my  little 
girl.  And  do  you  cheer  up,  my  dear  Louisa, 
and  rejoice  that  your  better  spirit  returned 
before  it  was  quite  too  late  to  hope  for  suc- 
cess ;  cheer  up !  you  have  advanced  rapidly 
3 


26  THE   CARPENTER 

and  well  the  last  hour,  and  I  can  almost 
venture  to  promise  you  victory." 

Louisa  looked  up  one  moment  from  her 
work,  and  smiled  gratefully  for  this  kind 
encouragement.  She  began  to  feel  better 
satisfied,  and  at  peace  with  herself,  as  she 
listened  to  her  sister's  hopes  ;  and  she  went 
on  more  confidently.  And  what  will  not  a 
calm,  resolute  perseverance  accomplish  7 — 
it  seems  almost  to  give  additional  moments 
to  limited  time;  and  the  hours,  like  'the 
widow's  cruise  of  oil,'  appear  to  lengthen  as 
new  demands  are  made  upon  them. 

Before  the  period  had  elapsed  which  was 
allowed  for  the  duty,  Louisa  saw  with  de- 
light that  she  was  drawing  near  the  end ; 
and  just  as  dinner  was  announced,  she  put 
the  finishing  stitches  to  the  work,  with  an 
exultation  and  joy  she  could  scarcely  ex- 
press. 

"  Dear  Augusta,"  said  she  eagerly — then 
casting  down  her  eyes,  (which  had  at  first 
expressed  only  their  emotion  of  exultation,) 
as  the  remembrance  of  her  early  misconduct 
flashed  painfully  across  the  brightness  of 
her  thoughts,  and  a  feeling  of  humility  tern- 


AND   HIS   FAMILY.  27 

pered  her  self-gratulation,  she  continued  in 
a  subdued  voice — "  Dear  Augusta,  have  I 
made  up  for  it  ? — have  I  repaired  my  fault 
now?  I  am  sorry  I  have  been  such  a 
naughty  girl,  Augusta ;  I  am  ashamed  of 
my  bad  spirit ;  but  I  have  done  all  I  could 
since,  and  I  have  worked  fast  and  well ; 
and  have  finished  my  work  too.  Will  you 
not  kiss  me  now,  sister — and  say  I  am 
1  your  good  Louisa? '  '  ,  / 

"  Yes,  my  good  Louisa,  you  have  really 
done  '  all  you  could,' — all  any  of  us  can  do, 
after  we  have  indulged  improper  feelings. 
You  have  deeply  repented  of  your  fault, 
turned  resolutely  from  it,  and  persevered  zeal- 
ously in  a  right  course, — and  thus,  as  far  as 
possible,  repaired  your  error ;  and  I  freely, 
cordially,  give  you  a  heart-felt  embrace. 
But  remember,  my  dear  Louisa,  that  though 
you  have  done*all  you  could  to  repair  your 
fault,  you  cannot  undo  the  past ;  you  cannot 
quite  efface  the  evil  effects  of  these  indulged 
passions  from  your  heart.  For  every  new 
indulgence  gives  them  additional  power, 
and  renders  their  complete  mastery,  and 
your  future  discipline  more  difficult,  and 


28  THE   CARPENTER 

far  more  painful.  Let  this  warn  you  to  be 
careful  henceforward,  and  never  for  one 
moment  imagine  that  your  faults  leave  an 
unimportant  stain  upon  your  character,  be- 
cause they  have  been  speedily  followed  by 
repentanc'e;  though  most  certainly  that  is 
the  best,  the  only  way,  indeed,  in  which  you 
can  prevent  their  becoming  indelible  and 
eternal." 

"  Go  now,  my  dear  Louisa;  and  do  not 
forget  after  dinner  to  jump,  and  skip,  and 
run,  until  you  have  faithfully  exercised 
these  wearied  limbs,  before  you  are  called 
to  seat  yourself  again  in  the  carriage.  This 
is  now  a  duty.  Your  young  frame  requires 
considerable  exercise.  You  have  had  none 
to-day,  and  a  drive  over  our  smooth  level 
roads  will  not  be  sufficient." 

Louisa  promised  obedience,  and  indeed 
was  thankful  for  the  liberty ;  being  as  yet 
little  accustomed  to  such  close  application, 
for  so  long  a  period,  and,  like  Mary,  feeling 
its  effects  wearisome. 


AND    HIS   FAMILY.  29 

CHAPTER  IV. 

EXERCISES    OF  BENEVOLENCE,  AND  THEIR  RESULTS. 

LOUISA  went  immediately  to  seek  her 
mother  and  Mary  in  the  room  of  the  former, 
but  met  them  on  their  way  to  the  dining- 
room. 

"  Oh,  Louisa,"  exclaimed  Mary,  "  you 
don't  know  what  I  have  been  doing.  I 
have  been  helping  mother  get  things  ready. 
But  I  forgot ; — have  you  done  it — the  sheet, 
I  mean?" 

"Yes,  only  think — all  that  long  piece 
since  you  left  off;  and  Augusta  said  it  was 
well  done  too.  I  did  not  have  to  pick  out 
one  stitch.  I  am  very  glad ;  and  so  are  you 
too,  dear  Mary,  I  know." 

"  I  am  sure  I  am  glad,  Louisa ;  and  I 
wanted  Augusta  to  let  me  help  you,  but  she 
said  I  must  not,  because  my  doing  it  would 
not  be  your  doing  it,  you  know ;  and  beside, 
my  mother  wanted  me  for  another  thing." 

"I  heard  you  ask  her,  Mary;  and  I 
thank  you,  you  dear  girl,"  replied  Louisa, 


30  THE   CARPENTER 

putting  her  arm  around  her  sister,  and  skip- 
ping toward  the  dining-room.  "  But  what 
else  have  you  been  doing,  Mary — anything 
for  Mrs.  Osborn?"  . 

"  Why,  I  will  tell  you  all  about  it,  Louisa. 
As  soon  as  I  went  to  mother's  room,  do  n't 
you  think,  she  told  me  to  go  with  her  to  my 
drawer,  and  there  she  made  me  take  out  all 
my  clothes — every  one  of  them,  (my  every- 
day clothes  I  mean,)  and  try  them  on,  or 
hold  them  up  before  me,  so  that  she  could 
see  what  I  had  outgrown ;  and  so  every  one 
which  was  in  the  least  too  short,  or  too 
small,  or  faded,  or  worn — everything  that 
I  could  spare — she  told  me  to  lay  away 
with  my  sheet,  to  carry  this  afternoon  to 
the  poor  woman's  children.  And  after 
dinner  you  are'  going  to  do  just  the  same 
thing.  She  said  that  between  us,  we  must 
find  enough  for  them  at  present,  and  that 
this  should  be  our  present,  our  own  gift, 
since  we  must  do  with  so  much  the  less,  at 
least  for  some  time.  And  I  am  sure  I  am 
willing  to." 

"  But  there  is  the  poor  deaf  and  dumb 
boy,"  said  Louisa.  "  You  know  Augusta 


A\D   HIS   FAMILY.  31 

told  us  there  was  a  deaf  and  dumb  boy, 
Mary ;  our  clothes  will  not  do  for  him.  I 
hope  that  brother  Alfred  left  some  of  his  at 
home,  when  he  went  to  school." 

"  You  need  not  be  afraid,"  replied  Mary, 
"  for  you  know  mother  never  forgets.  She 
had  put  by  a  large  bundle,  and  she  has  been 
mending  and  altering  them  to  fit,  all  day 
yesterday,  almost — she  told  me  so ;  and 
there  are  rolls  and  rolls  of  old  linen,  and 
bottles  of  wine,  and  boxes  of  sugar,  and  tea, 
and  rice,  and  coffee,  and  lots  of  things,  put 
into  Caesar's  little  hand-cart,  for  him  to 
carry ;  and  he  has  already  set  off  with 
them ;  for  you  know  old  Cessar  does  not 
walk  so  fast  as  we  do.  Oh,  what  do  you 
think  he  said  to  Miss  Joslin  just  now, 
Louisa?  it  made  her  laugh  so  she  could 
scarcely  tell  me  about  it,  for  I  could  not 
understand.  He  said—'  Misus  go  up  tip 
top  ob  hebben  when  she  die,  for  Misus  no 
lip  Christian.'  How  droll  Caesar  does  talk." 

"What  did  he  mean  by  that,  Mary?" 
replied  Louisa.  "I  do  n't  see  anything  to 
laugh  at.  I  don't  understand  what  he 
means; — do  you?" 


32  THE    CARPENTER 

"  No,  indeed,  I  did  not.  Louisa,  until  Miss 
Joslin  told  me,  or,  as  she  called  it,  '  trans- 
lated it  into  English.'  She  said  he  intended 
to  say,  that  mistress  (mother,  you  know) 
would  have  a  high  reward  in  heaven  when 
she  died,  because  she  not  only  professed 
with  her  lips  to  be  a  Christian,  but  did  con- 
stantly the  good  works  of  one.  This  is  the 
way  Miss  Joslin  explained  it — her  very 
words — or  I  should  never  have  found  out 
what  it  was  to  be  '  tip  top  ob  hebben."1  But 
poor  old  Ceesar !  he  does  not  know  any 
better.  Mother  said  he  never  studied  gram- 
mar, and  the  things  we  study,  when  he  was 
little,  as  we  have.  But  never  mind  Caesar 
now,  for  here  is  the  dinner  come ;  and  I  am 
hungry  enough,  I'm  sure." 

The  light  hearted  little  prattlers  were 
glad  to  seat  themselves  at  the  ample  board ; 
and  their  spirits  received  additional  zest, 
when  they  heard  their  mother  order  the 
fragments  of  their  favorite  dishes  to  be  de- 
cently collected,  and  in  readiness  to  be  taken 
with  them  in  the  carriage  to  Mrs.  Osborn. 

It  was  a  charming  afternoon  in  May  when 
the  party  stepped  into  the  carriage,  intent 


AND   HIS   FAMILY.  33 

upon  the  proposed  expedition,  in  which  all 
felt  the  most  lively  interest.  The  air  was 
fragrant,  and  the  early  vegetation  spread  a 
vivid  and  beautiful  green  over  the  lap  of 
nature.  The  carolling  of  .the  happy  birds, 
to  which  even  threescore  and  ten  scarcely 
becomes  insensible,  sent  an  indefinable  thrill 
of  joy  through  the  young  hearts  which  were 
now  whirling  along  through  shaded  roads, 
over  hill,  through  valley,  on  their  errand 
of  mercy.  There  was  a  buoyant  principle 
within,  aiding  this  hilarity  of  fresh  animal 
spirits  in  the  spring-time  of  nature  and  of 
life,  which  made  every  object  a  subject  of 
delight.  It  was  the  reward  of  virtuous  self- 
conquest  to  one  young  bosom,  which,  like 
the  dew  of  the  morning,  rises  but  to  fall 
again  at  eventide,  refreshing  anew  the  earth 
from  which  it  was  exhaled. 

The  aged  servant  had  just  arrived,  though 
despatched  a  full  hour  before  them,  when 
the  party  reached  the  humble  dwelling ;  and 
no  time  was  to  be  lost  in  making  all  things 
ready  before  the  arrival  of  the  sufferer. 

The  tears  of  Mrs.  Osborn's  oppressed 
heart  fell  anew,  when  she  saw  that  God  had 


34  THE   CARPENTER 

indeed  raised  up  friends  so  powerful  and  so 
unwearied,  in  her  dark  hour  of  affliction,  at 
the  moment  when  she  felt  that  all,  save  her 
God  alone,  had  failed  her.  They  were  tears 
of  gratitude,  mingled  however  with  appre- 
hensions and  fears  most  bitter,  for  her  mis- 
erable husband. 

"  Oh,  I  dread — I  fear  his  arrival,  ma'am," 
said  she,  almost  gasping  for  breath.  "  What 
am  I  to  see  and  suffer !  How  can  I  ever 
look  upon  his  mangled,  disfigured  features ! " 

"  Put  your  trust  in  God,  Sarah,  and  he 
will  give  you  strength  equal  to  your  trials. 
He  will  not  leave  nor  forsake  you  while 
you  are  faithful  to  your  duties.  Brace  up 
your  heart  for  the  worst,  or  it  will  faint 
when  your  hour  comes.  But  this  can  only 
be  done  by  strengthening  your  faith  in  God, 
my  good  Sarah,  and  not  in  imagining  hor- 
rors which  you  may  never  be  called  upon 
to  endure.  Perhaps  the  accounts  which 
have  reached  you  have  been  exaggerated, 
and  the  case  will  not  prove  so  bad  as  has 
been  represented.  And  even  should  it  be. 
your  best  relief  and  preparation  will  be 
procured  by  making  every  possible  provision 


AND   HIS   FAMILY.  35 

for  his  comfort.  Employment  at  present  is 
the  best  thing  for  you,  Sarah — and  we  will 
to  work  speedily ;  therefore  let  us  see  where 
we  can  make  up  his  bed,  and  dispose  of  all 
these  affairs." 

Having  prepared  the  bed  for  the  expected 
sufferer,  they  proceeded  to  find  accommo- 
dations, and  arrange  all  the  little  refresh- 
ments, dainties  and  necessaries,  the  '  oil  and 
wine,'  which  the  kind  forethought  of  true 
benevolence  had  provided,  in  the  best 
manner  that  the  humble  and  inconvenient 
dwelling  would  permit. 

"  Well,  how  comfortable  things  look  now 
for  the  poor  creature,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Os- 
born,  wiping  her  tears  with  the  corner  of 
her  apron  while  she  spoke ;  for  they  would 
not  cease  to  flow,  though  she  busied  herself 
most  actively  and  earnestly.  "  I  did  not 
expect,  I'm  sure,  to  have  such  a  nice  bed  to 
offer  him.  And  how  could  I  ?  I  knew  not 
where  or  who  to  look  to  for  assistance ;  for 
you,  ma'am,  do  so  much  and  so  constantly 
for  me,  that  I  could  not  bear  to  bring  all 
these  new  wants  to  your  door.  And  it  does 


36  THE   CARPENTER 

seem  as  if  God  had  sent  you  to  me  at  that 
very  moment." 

"He  is  always  near  us,  Sarah,  (as  we 
find  when  we  seek  his  presence,)  to  alle- 
viate our  sufferings,  or  heighten  our  joys. 
And  now  let  us  attend  to  these  little  ones," 
continued  Mrs.  Morrison.  "  Bring  us  some 
soap  and  watej,  and  give  them  a  wholesome 
washing  first  of  all,  for  the  poor  things  have 
been  but  little  cared  for  these  few  days  past, 
I  suspect.  You  could  think  but  upon  one 
subject." 

This  being  over,  when  Mary  and  Louisa 
brought  forth  their  store,  and  saw  the  happy 
children  dressed  comfortably  in  clean  gar- 
ments, which  they  bestowed  with  generous 
alacrity,  their  bosoms  bounded  with  the 
purest  joy  that  old  or  young  may  ever  ex- 
perience this  side  heaven, — the  delight  of 
relieving  the  wants  of  virtuous  and  innocent 
poverty,  of  soothing  the  afflicted  and  the 
suffering. 

"  So  many  of  us  will  only  perplex  you 
when  John  arrives,"  said  Mrs.  Morrison,  as 
they  concluded  this  last  work  of  charity ; 


AND   HIS   FAMILY.  37 

"  and  I  had  best  depart  with  the  children. 
I  shall  leave  Caesar  at  the  door  without,  to 
assist  you,  and  to  bring  me  tidings  how 
John  is.  And  you  will  let  me  know  by 
him  if  anything  more  is  wanted,  which  we 
may  have  forgotten.  Fail  not  to  senql  me 
word.  These  little  girls  will  make  you  a 
change  of  bed  linen  %.  the  course  of  a  few 
days,  and  others  will  be  provided  in  season. 
Meantime  I  shall  see  you  daily.  Keep  up 
a  trusting  spirit,  Sarah,  and  hope  for  bright- 
er days." 

Sarah  could  only  answer  by  looks  of 
gratitude.  Her  heart  was  too  full  for  utter- 
ance, when  she  saw  the  merciful  and  kind 
friend  about  to  depart ;  and  a  free  indul- 
gence of  tears  was  necessary  to  relieve  it, 
when  they  had  actually  left  her  alone  with 
her  sorrows. 


38  THE    CARPENTER 

CHAPTER  V. 

GOOD  COUNSEL,  AND  ITS  CONSEQUENCES. 

THE  little  girls  were  allowed  to  chatter  to 
their  hearts'  content,  during  the  remainder 
of  their  ride.  Their  neads  were  full  of  the 
various  details  of  the  interesting  scene  they 
had  witnessed — the  anxious  and  affection- 
ate* fears  of  Mrs.  Osborn,  and  the  pleasant 
and  happy  faces  of  the  children,  and  their 
innocent  observations,  when  cleanly  dressed 
in  the  garments  furnished  from  their  own 
store.  The  air  of  comfort  which  the  little 
apartment  exhibited  when  they  left  it,  com- 
pared to  its  very  desolate  appearance  when 
they  first  entered  it,  were  each  in  turn  the 
subject  of  comment ;  and  then  all  thoughts 
seemed  to  centre  upon  the  sufferer  himself, 
and  conjectures  respecting  the  state  in  which 
he  would  appear  before  his  affectionate 
family. 

They  were  permitted  to  remain  up  half 
an  hour  beyond  the  usual  time,  this  even- 
ing, that  they  might  hear  Caesar's  report. 


AND   HIS   FAMILY.  39 

He  was  long  upon  the  way,  for  he  num- 
bered many  years,  and  was  feeble  from 
their  accumulated  burthen.  He  came  at 
last,  however,  and  brought  the  glad  confir- 
mation of  Mrs.  Morrison's  most  favorable 
predictions.  Sarah  had  expected  to  see  the 
crushed  and  mangled  body  of  her  husband, 
insensible  and  hopelessly  disabled.  She 
sent  joyfully  her  message  that  "  John  was 
not  near  as  bad  as  she  expected.  His  face 
was  not  altered,  except  from  the  anguish  of 
his  wounds,  which  was  greatly  increased 
by  the  motion.  He  had  his  senses  perfectly, 
knew  her,  and  thanked  her  gratefully  for 
all  the  comforts  around  him,  and  for  his 
kind  reception.  His  chief  injuries  were 
internal ;  but  even  these,  the  doctor  had 
given  her  encouragement,  might  be  healed 
in  time,  by  careful  attention,  provided  the 
effects  of  intemperance  upon  the  system  did 
not  prevent  the  cure; — and  these  habits," 
said  the  poor  wife,  "have  only  been  a  short 
time  indulged,  and  I  cannot  think  have 
much  affected  him  yet.  His  constitution 
was  once  a  very  good  one,  and,  poor  man  ! 
if  it  stands  this  shock,  I  feel  now  sure  he 


40  THE   CARPENTER 

will  leave  off  all  his  bad  ways ;  for  there 
never  was  a  truer  penitent  than  John  is.  It 
would  make  your  kind  heart  ache  to  hear 
his  sighs  and  self-reproaches ;  and  then  he 
seems  so  humble,  and  patient,  and  grateful 
for  every  mercy."  Sarah  had  been  well 
and  religiously  brought  up,  in  the  family  of 
a  country  clergyman,  and  her  moral  sensi- 
bilities had  been  sadly  violated  by  the  irre- 
gularities of  her  husband's  late  life.  She 
had  tenderly  loved  him,  and  the  least  pros- 
pect of  reformation  was  hailed  by  her  with 
tfye  joy  of  a  Christian,  as  well  as  that  of  an 
affectionate  wife. 

Mary  and  Louisa  were  unwearied  through 
the  following  week,  and  faithfully  employed 
their  time,  that  by  their  industry,  they 
might  farther  contribute  to  the  relief  of  a 
family  become  so  interesting  to  them ;  and 
had  almost  daily  the  satisfaction  of  seeing 
or  hearing  of  some  alleviation  their  labors 
had  produced,  or  at  least,  had  assisted. 

John  had  been  sadly  wounded,  and  it 
was  long  before  he  showed  any  signs  of 
radical  amendment,  and  still  longer  before 
he  could  be  persuaded  that  there  was  the 


AND   HIS   FAMILY.  41 

slightest  chance  of  recovery.  The  circum- 
stance of  having  received  the  injury  proba- 
bly in  consequence  of  partial  intoxication, 
weighed  painfully  upon  his  conscience,  and 
added  mental  anguish  to  his  bodily  suffer- 
ings. He  felt  that  the  calamity  which 
had  thus  prostrated  him  was  a  just  and 
merited  punishment — a  punishment  \vilfully 
brought  upon  his  own  head  by  his  repeated 
transgressions;  and  he  was  deeply  humbled 
by  the  conviction.  But  that  his  sin  should 
thus  involve  a  most  affectionate  and  faith- 
ful wife  in  distress,  and  throw  his  help- 
less family  upon  the  precarious  charity  of 
the  world,  without  which  they  must  all 
perish  for  want,  was  a  reflection  which 
agonized  his  mind,  and  appeared  to-  him, 
now  that  he  was  entirely  prostrated,  in  all 
its  enormity,  and  greatly  retarded  his  re- 
covery. His  wife  tried  to  soothe  and  to 
comfort  him ;  but  the  greater  her  kindness, 
and  the  fonder  the  innocent  caresses  of  his 
children,  the  sharper  were  the  stings  of  re- 
morse*; the  bitter  and  continual  expression 
of  which  added  severely  to  all  the  burthen 
of  distress  thus  brought  upon  his  family. 
4* 


42  THE   CARPENTER 

Mrs.  Osborn  found  herself  quite  inade- 
quate to  meet  the  new  demand  upon  her 
fortitude ;  she  could  minister  to  his  corpo- 
real necessities,  with  unwearied  fidelity;  she 
could  sympathize  and  suffer  with  him,  but 
was.  unprepared  with  arguments  to  meet 
the  sudden  rush  of  contrition  which  had 
distracted,  and  now  seemed  to  be  settling 
in  one  dark  cloud  of  gloom  upon  his  mind. 
She 'besought  Mrs.  Morrison  still  farther  to 
befriend  her,  and  add  to  her  numberless 
acts  of  kindness,  that  of  endeavoring  to  re- 
concile poor  John  to  himself;  for  she  knew 
he  could  never  get  well,  while  his  heart 
was  so  oppressed. 

"  You  can  talk  to  him,  ma'am,  as  I  can- 
not possibly ;  and  indeed,  he  will  not  hear 
to  me.  If  I  speak  kindly  and  encouraging, 
it  seems  to  make  him  feel  worse ;  and  when 
I  beg  him  to  forget  the  past,  and  only  try 
to  get  well,  he  tells  me  that  '  he  must  not 
•  forget — that  he  ought  to  think  of  .his  sins 
forever  while  he  lives,  and  mourn  for  them 
continually;'  and  then  I  do  not  know  what 
to  answer  him  at  all ;  for  certainly  I  do  not 
wish  him  to  forget  the  dreadful  warning, 


AND   HIS   FAMILY.  43 

so  as  to  return  to  his  bad  ways  again ;  but 
yet  it  is  a  miserable  life  to  me,  to  see  him 
take  on  so,  all  the  time,  and  groan  so  pit- 
eously,  for  what  has  past,  and  can't  be 
undone  now.  John  has  read  his  Bible 
through  and  through,  ma'am,  in  his  young 
days,  and  often  answers  me  by  a  text, 
when  I  am  trying  to  pacify  him,  and  puz- 
zles me  more  and  more.  Will  you  just 
look  in  upon  him  a  little,  when  you  have 
leisure,  and  talk  to  him  a  while  1  I  think 
he  will  hear  to  you — for  I  am  sure  I  cannot 
live  so,  and  I  do  n't  know  what  to  do  at 
all." 

"  I  am  very  sorry,"  replied  Mrs.  Morrison, 
"  that  our  excellent  pastor  is  absent  at  this 
time ;  he  is  better  calculated  than  any  one 
I  know,  to  assist  you  in  this  difficulty." 

"  John  would  hear  to  reason  better  from 
you,  ma'am,"  replied  Sarah  ;  "  it  is  so  long 
since  he  has  gone  regularly  to  church,  and 
one  thing  and  another,  he  don't  seem  to 
like  to  see  the  minister  now,  and  won?t  be 
persuaded.  He  says  'he  can't  help  him 
any.'  » 


44  THE   CARPENTER 

Mrs.  Morrison  did  not  shrink  from  this 
most  painful  and  difficult  exercise  of  Chris- 
tian charity.  She  seated  herself  daily  for 
hours  at  the  bedside  of  the  miserable  peni- 
tent, listened  to  all  his  self-upbraidings  and 
self-accusations/  his  gloomy  predictions  and 
trembling  fears,  and  With  the  blessed  light 
drawn  from  the  promises  of  the  gospel, 
sought  to  relieve  him  ;  and  while  she  con- 
firmed his  penitence,  by  enlightening ,  his 
conscience,  and  giving  him  clearer  views  of 
the  nature  of  genuine  contrition,  she  bade 
him  be  of  good  cheer.  She  convinced  him 
that  the  truly  humble  and  contrite  heart 
will  not  be  despised  by  the  Father  of  mer- 
cies ;  but  that  such  repentance  was  proved 
only  by  the  entire  forsaking  of  our  evil 
ways,  and  turning  resolutely  to  those  which 
were  good,  and  not  by  noisy  self-re- 
proaches, and  a  continual  and  gloomy 
brooding  upon  past  transgressions,  which 
unfits  us  for  present  usefulness  ;  that  if  he 
had  reflected  upon  his  devious  course,  and 
the  heinousness  of  his  offences,  so  seriously 
and  effectually,  as  to  be  humble  and  con- 
trite, in  spirit  and  in  truth,  and  fully  re- 


AND   HIS   FAMILY.  45 

solved  wherein  he  had  done  wrong,  to  do 
so  no  more  forever ;  if  he  devoutly  sought 
aid  and  strength  from  God  to  keep  his  good 
resolutions,  and  sustain  his  present  chastise- 
ment with  a  meek  and  patient  mind,  he  had 
then  derived  all  possible  advantages  from  a 
review  of  the  past, — and  farther  to  goad  his 
heart,  and  retard  his  recovery — to  add  dis- 
tresses innumerable  to  those  already  heaped 
on  his  afflicted  wife,  by  complaints  and 
lamentations — was  adding  to  his  misdeeds, 
and  by  no  means  lessened  his  guilt ;  that 
he  must  now  look  to  the  future,  with  cheer- 
ing hopes  of  usefulness,  and  a  humble  but 
heartfelt  determination,  with  Almighty  aid, 
to  repair  the  evils  his  misconduct  and  ex- 
ample had  brought  upon  his  family  and 
upon  society,  and  to  the  present,  that  he 
might  be  patient  and  enduring — thus  alle- 
viating, as  far  as  possible,  by  his  cheerful 
suffering,  the  anxious  solicitude  of  his  ex- 
cellent wife. 

After  many  of  these  interviews,  and  with 
watchful  care,  meeting  all  the  alarms  of  his 
conscience,  and  all  the  wants  of  his  heart, 
with  such  counsel  as  the  religion  of  the 


46  THE   CARPENTER. 

gospel  alone  can  furnish,  John's  mind  seem- 
ed to  expand  to  a  better  apprehension  of  his 
present  duty,  and  a  more  definite  under- 
standing of  the  nature  of  true  repentance, 
and  to  comprehend  more  clearly  the  requi- 
sitions and  commands  of  God.  He  became 
more  patient,  more  gentle,  and  pleasant- 
tempered,  pleased  and  satisfied  with  all  his 
wife  did  for  him,  kind  and  affectionate  to 
his  children.  He  now  formed  plans  for 
their  future  comfort,  should  his  life  be 
spared  and  his  strength  restored,  which  his 
constant  industry  and  devotedness  might 
welt  supply,  and  looked  humbly  and  de- 
voutly to  God  for  a  blessing  on  his  resolves. 
"What  an  altered  man  my  poor  John  is 
since  his  trouble!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Osborn 
to  Augusta  some  weeks  after  this  period, 
"since  your  dear  good  mother  talked  so 
often  with  him,  and  you  have  read  to  him 
your  good  books  and  '  devotional  exercises.' 
It  is  a  pleasure  to  wait  upon  him  now.  Oh, 
surely  this  affliction  has  been  sanctified  to 


AND   HIS   FAMILY.  47 

CHAPTER  VI. 

BRINGING  GOOD   OUT   OF   EVIL. 

BUT  though  daily  improving,  John  had 
been  so  severely  wounded  in  body  and 
in  spirit,  that  his  restoration  was  very 
gradual.  And  he  soon  found  with  bitter 
anguish,  that  he  was  forever  disabled  from 
prosecuting  as  formerly,  his  laborious  busi- 
ness ;  he  could  enter  upon  no  important 
contracts,  for  he  could  not  calculate  on  a 
days  reprieve  from  sufferings ;  his  season  of 
health  and  strength  was  forever  gone  by ! 
they  had  been  wasted  and  abused ;  and 
now,  when  he  would,  as  he  thought,  truly 
prize  and  improve  the  blessing,  it  had  been 
withdrawn  forever !  The  internal  injuries 
he  had  sustained — and,  as  he  could  not  but 
remember,  in  consequence  of  his  sinful  in- 
dulgences— now  forever  cut  him  off  from 
steady,  active  exertion.  This  was  indeed 
a  fearful  trial,  and  the  conviction  came 
to  him  loaded  anew  with  remorse  and  un- 
availing regret.  His  family  was  never  so 


48  THE    CARPENTER 

dear  to  him,  as  at  this  moment,  when  he 
thought  himself  incapacitated  for  support- 
ing them,  and  feared  he  must  either  hang  a 
burthen  upon  them,  or  seek  shelter  in  the 
asylum  provided  for  the  poor  and  miserable. 
These  were  dark  hours,  but  it  pleased  God 
to  "  lift  up  the  light  of  his  countenance 
upon  him,"  and  John  became  calm  and 
patient,  under  his  burthens. 

After  many  months,  during  which  she 
was  enabled,  by  the  kindness  of  Mrs.  Mor- 
rison, to  devote  the  whole  of  her  time  and 
attention  to  the  relief  and  comfort  of  her 
husband,  Mrs.  Osborn  found  him  so  far 
recovered,  that  she  was  once  more  at  liberty 
to  work  for  their  support.  Employment 
was  immediately  furnished  for  her  in- 
dustrious and  profitable  labors.  The  char- 
itable hearts  which  had  so  far  befriended, 
did  not  now  forsake  her.  Punctual  and 
ample  remuneration  followed  her  daily  ex- 
ertions. The  poor  deaf  and  dumb  boy  was, 
by  the  efforts  of  the  charitable,  at  length 
placed  in  the  merciful  establishment  foun- 
ded for  the  relief  of  these  unfortunate  be- 
ings. The  little  girls  were  sent  to  school, 


AND   HIS   FAMILY.  49 

and  books  and  sewing  provided  for  their 
early  instruction. 

Our  young  friends,  Mary  and  Louisa, 
had  the  delightful  privilege,  under  their 
kind  sister's  superintendence,  of  altering 
and  making  for  them  decent  and  comfort- 
able clothing. 

Such  is  the  effect  of  good  habits,  and  an 
earnest  desire  to  be  useful,  that  at  the  very 
moment  when  John  thought  himself  becom- 
ing a  helpless  burthen  upon  his  family,  he, 
in  fact,  contributed  more  effectually  to  their 
support,  than  even  in  his  days  of  strength, 
and  vigor  of  constitution.  Much  of  his 
power,  as  he  felt,  was  really  withdrawn; 
but  he  used,  without  abusing,  what  re- 
mained, with  scrupulous  economy,  and  it 
was  blessed.  He  could  not  go  out  to  work, 
it  is  true,  or  engage  in  labors  abroad  at 
all.  This,  however,  had  its  advantages ;  it 
saved  him  from  many  temptations.  And 
the  kindness  of  Mrs.  Morrison,  at  a  trifling 
expense,  fitted  up  a  little  work-shop  adjoin- 
ing his  bedroom,  and  added  to  his  scanty 
stock  of  tools,  such  as  were  deficient,  to- 
5 


5U  THE    CARPENTER 

gether  with  a  supply  of  material  for  imme- 
diate use.  Every  assistance  was  rendered 
him  which  his  circumstances  required,  to 
stimulate  and  reward  his  laudable  exer- 
tions ;  for  the  wealthy  neighbors,  prompted 
by  the  example  of  Mrs.  Morrison,  were  not 
backward  in  these  offices  of  charity.  Here, 
in  a  small,  but  lucrative  way,  the  poor  in- 
valid employed  every  hour  of  strength  and 
health  remaining  to  him.  He  was  a  neat 
and  ingenious  workman,  and  soon  found 
patronage  and  employment.  When  weary, 
he  retired  for  a  season  to  his  adjoining  bed- 
room, for  rest  and  refreshment,  and  to 
gather  new  strength  for  the  future.  Spirits 
and  peace  of  mind  came  with  an  upright 
and  useful  life ;  and  John  tasted  more 
pure  happiness,  in  the  affections  of  a  grateful 
wife,  and  the  emotions  of  conscious  recti- 
tude, than  had  ever  gladdened  him  in  his 
wayward  course.  When  unable  to  work, 
he  often  (as  Sarah  said)  had  "  a  kind  eye" 
to  the  children,  and  kept  them  from  harm, 
while  she  went  abroad  to  labor — a  liberty 
she  had  not  had  before  since  she  was  mar- 
ried. 


AND   HIS   FAMILY.  51 

Their  united  industry  soon  produced  its 
unfailing  reward,  while  the  delight,  which 
John's  steady  and  affectionate  conduct 
gave  to  his  rejoicing  wife,  seemed  to  bestow 
upon  her  new  strength  and  energy  for  all 
emergencies. 

"I  should  think,  sister,"  said  Louisa  to 
Augusta,  as  she  once  more  sat  beside  her 
drawing  table,  at  her  appointed  work — "  I 
should  think  the  Osborns  were  a  great  deal 
happier  for  having  trouble.  How  much 
more  lively  and  cheerful  they  always  look 
now,  than  they  used  to.  I  should  think  he 
liked  to  be  sick,  and  that  his  wife  liked  to 
have  him  so  too ;  and  yet,  she  seemed  to  be 
sad  and  sorrowful  enough  that  first  day, 
when  Mary  and  I  saw  her ;  but  how  much 
nicer  and  neater  she  keeps  her  house  now, 
everything  looks  comfortable,  and  they 
have  more  furniture  in  their  room  now 
than  they  had  that  day,  the  day  poor  John 
was  brought  home." 

"  You  are  right  in  part,  my  dear,"  replied 
Augusta,  "but  you  do  not  exactly  under- 
stand the  case,  or  clearly  express  yourself. 
The  Osborns  are  certainly  not  happier  for 


52  THE    CARPENTER 

'being  in  trouble,'  but  they  have  become  so, 
from  a  right  improvement  of  trouble.  They 
smarted  bitterly  under  their  afflictions,  but 
they  have  'brought  good  out  of  evil,'  by 
meeting  them  like  Christians.  Mrs.  Os- 
born  feels  all  that  a  good  and  fond  wife  can 
feel,  for  the  sufferings  of  her  husband,  but 
she  sees  that  it  has  been  the  means  of  re- 
forming and  improving  him,  and  probably 
saving  him  from  the  vastly  greater  misery, 
which  a  sinful  life  always  accumulates  in 
this  world,  and  will  surely  endure  through 
that  which  is  to  come.  She  sees  him  pa- 
tient, cheerful  and  happy,  from  the  same 
cause,  and  not  from  the  remembrance  that 
he  is  now  almost  a  helpless  cripple;  but 
he  is  humbled  and  repentant,  and  has  for- 
saken his  evil  courses,  which  were  a  con- 
stant sting  to  his  conscience,  and  rendered 
him  sour,  ill-tempered,  and  miserable.  He 
blesses  the  fatherly  love,  which  by  present 
punishment  has  withdrawn  him  from  sin, 
and  saved  him  from  his  worst  enemy,  him- 
self. He  is  happy  now,  in  well  doing, 
and  in  devoting  all  his  remaining  energies. 
to  the  support  of  his  deserving  family. 


AND   HIS   FAMILY.  53 

This  state  of  his  mind  and  conduct, 
amply  compensates  his  good  wife  for  the 
trials  they  have  both  endured.  Their 
united  industry  has  spread  comfort  around 
their  habitation,  and  conscious  rectitude 
illumines  the  face  with  smiles,  and  sheds 
sunshine  through  the  heart.  In  this  way, 
they  are  '  happier  for  their  troubles ; '  and 
in  this  sense,  all  troubles  may  be  rendered 
blessings  to  us.  Your  own  character, 
my  dear  Louisa,  has  been  much  brighter, 
since  the  clouds  of  that  same  day  to  which 
you  refer.  The  little  troubles  which  you 
brought  upon  yourself,  by  your  faulty 
temper,  your  indolence  and  misconduct, 
have  proved  a  useful  lesson,  though  your 
young  heart  felt  for  a  time  almost  bursting 
from  its  self-upbraiding.  You  repented 
truly,  and  I  may  say  reformed, — at  least,  I 
date  your  great  improvement  from  these  dark 
hours,  since  which,  I  rejoice  to  say,  I  have  not 
once  seen  the  least  indulgence  of  those  im- 
proper feelings.  I  have  noticed,  on  the  con- 
trary, with  what  care  you  have  kept  your 
affairs  in  order,  and  the  industry  and  atten- 
tion with  which  you  pursue  your  appointed 


54  THE   CARPENTER 

task ;  and  I  see  too,  that  it  is  the  recollection 
of  that  day,  and  its  timely  warning,  which 
constantly  rises  to  your  mind,  and  con- 
tinues its  wholesome  influences." 

"  Well,  sister,  so  it  is,"  replied  Louisa  j 
"  for  somehow  I  never  can  sit  down  on  this 
low  seat,  and  begin  my  sewing,  without 
thinking  all  about  that,  and  how  badly  I 
felt ;  and  then  I  say  to  myself,  '  Louisa,  now 
take  care  this  time ; '  and  if  I  feel  a  little 
lazy,  and  begin  to  fancy  that  mother  has 
given  me  too  much  work — that  soon  drives 
away  such  wrong  thoughts,  when  I  re- 
member how  very,  very  sorry  I  felt ; — so, 
Augusta,  though  a  little  girl,  I  am  learning 
*  to  bring  good  out  of  evil,'  too,  as  you  say 
the  Osborns  have." 

"  Continue  thus  to  pursue  your  good 
course,  my  love,"  said  Augusta,  "  and  the 
sun  of  peace  will  never  cease  to  shine  upon 
you,  however  misfortunes  may  gather  round 
your  path." 

The  calamities  of  life,  though  they  in- 
crease in  magnitude,  as  we  advance  from 
infancy,  admit  of  one  and  the  same  ameli- 
oration, and  are  alike  capable  of  producing 


AND  HIS   FAMILY.  55 

good  or  bitter  fruits,  as  they  are  received, 
sustained,  and  improved.  Some  hidden 
purposes  of  mercy  are  ever  shrouded  be- 
neath the  miseries  which  seem  even  to 
threaten  the  soul  with  an  overwhelming 
flood.  A  firm  conviction  of  this  truth,  and 
an  earnest  endeavor  to  co-operate  in  the 
designs  of  an  overruling  providence,  in  pro- 
ducing the  ultimate  good  intended,  is  the 
duty  which  alone  can  lighten  our  burthens, 
or  restore  our  peace. 

The  kind  Augusta  lost  no  opportunity  of 
enforcing  this  impression,  by  frequent  and 
affectionate  illustrations,  drawn  from  daily 
occurences  immediately  within  their  sphere 
of  observation,  if  not  intimately  connected 
with  themselves,  until  the  full  power  of 
these  important  truths  were  engrafted  upon 
the  tender  plants  she  reared,  and  from  the 
discipline  of  the  school-room,  taught  them 
to  "bring  good  out  of  evil,"  on  the  broad 
theatre  of  life. 


PRIDE    SUBDUED. 


PRIDE    SUBDUED, 


"  WELL,  my  children,  what  shall  be  our 
recreations  for  the  evening?"  said  Mr. 
Russel  to  his  assembled  family,  when  the 
tea  equipage  had  been  removed.  "  I  am 
well  content  that  you  should  select  for 
yourselves,  provided  you  are  harmonious 
in  your  choice." 

"  Oh,  dear  father",  ^  exclaimed  the  young- 
est girl,  "I  should  like  to  play  a  game 

of" 

— "  Stop,  stop,  Mary,"  said  her  brother 
James,  "let me  ask  father;  lam  the  oldest. 
Father,  will  you  be  so  good  as  " 

"Remember,"  interrupted  Mr.  Russel, 

"  if  you  are  not  all  agreed,  we  shall  seek 
enjoyment  in  vain.     Cross  purposes  will 


60  PRIDE   SUBDUED. 

never  produce  happiness.  One  discordant 
instrument  destroys  the  harmony  of  a  whole 
band ;  and,  in  like  manner,  one  discontented 
spirit  will  disturb  the  peace  of  our  entire 
party.  Let  us  have  unanimity.  Go  on, 
James,  you  shall  be  spokesman.  What  do 
you  propose  for  our  evening's  employment ?" 

"Why,  if  the  girls  will  like  it,"  said 
James,  "  I  know  at  once  what  I  should  pre- 
fer. But  I  am  so  afraid  " 

"Speak  out,  Jemmy,"  said  Susan, 

"why  do  you  fear  we  shall  object?  I  am 
sure  I  shall  be  satisfied  with  whatever  you 
choose." 

"  I  was  only  afraid  that  you  and  Mary 
could  not  walk  so  far,"  said  James.  "  I 
was  going  to  vote  for  a  walk  to  the  Park, 
and  one  of  my  father's  entertaining  stories, 
such  as  he  used  to  tell  us  last  winter." 

"  Yes,  indeed;  that  is  the  very  best  thing 
you  could  propose,"  exclaimed  both  the 
little  girls  in  a  breath. 

"  I  am  sure  the  walk  is  not  very  long," 
said  James ;  "at  least  not  too  long,  when 
we  shall  be  so  much  interested.  Should  not 
you  like  it,  Emily?" 


PRIDE    SUBDUED.  61 

"  Exceedingly  well,"  replied  his  sister. 

"As  it  respects  the  walk,  my  son,  you 
have  selected  wisely.  You  all  require  ex- 
ercise after  the  confinement  of  school ;  and 
I  can  myself  scarcely  be  comfortable  with- 
out it.  The  second  proposition  would  be 
subject  to  some  objections,  were  it  not  for 
the  stipulation  for  unanimity,  on  which  1 
insisted ;  for  really,  I  hardly  know  whence 
I  am  to  draw  materials  for  new  recitals ;  I 
have  quite  exhausted  my  fund — or  at  least 
I  have  given  you  all  the  cream  of  my  ad- 
ventures. You  must  be  content  if  I  re-skim, 
and  furnish  what  is  neither  new  nor  rich." 

"Uncle  John  would  say,  that  was  but 
a  milk  and  water  promise,  however,"  said 
James,  laughing  at  his  own  poor  pun. 
"  But  if  you  will  only  talk,  dear  father,  I 
for  one  will  not  complain.  And  now  shall 
we  be  going  1 " 

"  A  little  patience,  my  son ;  your  mother 
is  not  yet  here :  as  she  is  the  main-spring 
of  our  enjoyments,  you  know,  we  cannot 
get  on  at  all  without  her.  But  here  she 
comes,  and  all  equipped,  I  see." 
6 


62  PRIDE    SUBDUED. 

"  Yes,  quite  ready  now,  my  children,  and 
I  regret  to  have  kept  yon  waiting.  But  I 
did  not  like  to  leave  your  little  brother,  un- 
til he  had  fallen  to  sleep.  And  indeed  he 
looked  so  smiling  and  lovely,  so  rosy  and 
well,  in  his  quiet  slumbers,  I  shall  be  all  the 
happier  for  waiting." 

While  these  preliminaries  were  in  pro- 
gress, bonnets  and  shawls  were  arranged, 
and  the  family  proceeded  on  their  excur- 
sion. It  was  a  bright  and  refreshing  evening, 
after  a  warm  autumnal  day.  The  sun  had 
set  in  glory,  and  the  beautiful  heavens 
were  still  glowing  with  his  parting  rays. 
The  foliage  of  the  groves  scarcely  fluttered 
in  the  dying  breeze.  And  the  hum  of  in- 
sects, joyous  in  their  brief  existence,  in- 
stead of  disturbing,  only  gave  effect  to  the 
peaceful  stillness — the  impressive  silence 
of  the  hour. 

"  What  a  lovely  night ! — and  how  happy 
I  feel !"  exclaimed  the  light-hearted  Susan, 
looking  up  and  around  her,  with  admira- 
tion. Silence  again  followed  this  burst  of 
youthful  enthusiasm. 


PRIDE   SUBDUED.  63 

"  There  is  indeed  a  truth  and  sublimity 
in  the  voice  of  nature,  that  speaks  most 
powerfully  to  the  heart.  Even  the  frolic- 
some spirit  of  childhood  pauses  to  listen  to 
its  music.  Was  it  not  for 'the  fear  of  being 
sentimental,  my  dear  Willson,"  she  contin- 
ued, smiling,  "  I  should  say  the  heavens  at 
this  moment  presented  a  beautiful  illustra- 
tion of  my  morning  and  evening  of  life. 
Here  is  the  rich  glow  of  coloring — the 
young  imaginings — the  varied  beauties  in 
which  the  future  was  always  portrayed. 
Through  such  a  gilded  vista  of  the. cluster- 
ing clouds,  howe5errdense  they  might  be,  a 
bright  and  beautifwLpcrspective  was  traced, 
in  soft  but  celestMUight.  All  this  was  an- 
ticipation, gorgeous,  glowing,  indescribable ! 
But  behold  on  this  side,  there  is  fruition ! 
A  scene  as  pure  and  holy,  as  the  spirit 
which  presides  over  and  has  ordered  my 
destiny !  The  soft,  placid  moon  is  rising 
in  majesty  upon  the  clear  blue  vault  of 
heaven,  serene  and  cloudless  as  my  present 
happiness  !  Reality — fruition,  has  merged 
every  aspiration  in  peaceful,  sweet  content- 
ment. The  gaudy  coloring  of  a  too  ardent 


64  PRIDE   SUBDUED. 

imagination  is  chastened,  subdued,  mel- 
lowed, but  not  lost  by  time — less  dazzling, 
but  not  a  whit  less  full,  deep  and  perfect." 

"A  little  spice  of  romantic,  my  dear 
Louisa ;  a  shade  of  sentimentality  in  the 
analogy  you  have  traced,"  replied  Mr. 
Russel.  "  But  it  is  so  soothing  to  my  van- 
ity— nay,  so  gratifying  to  my  heart,  that  I 
cannot  be  very  severe  upon  it,  or  suspect 
one  tittle  of  its  truth.  How  can  I  indeed, 
since  your  illustration  is  drawn  from  high 
heaven  itself." 

"  Ah,  Willy,  I  thought  I  should  not  come 
off  without  a  slight  rub,  to  bring  me  down 
from  the  clouds.  But  now  that  I  have  by 
your  assistance  safely  alighted  upon  earth, 
let  me  remind  you  of  these  younklings,  to 
whom  you  gave  a  promise." 

"  I  have  not  forgotten  them  or  my  prom- 
ise, Louisa.  But  there  is  so  much  to  de- 
light and  satisfy  the  heart  in  the  scene 
before  us,  and  there  already  appears  such 
a  fulness  of  satisfaction  in  contemplating 
it,  that  I  am  thinking  they  will  all  agree  to 
the  proposition  I  am  about  to  make  them. 
What  say  you,  my  children  1  Should  you 


PRIDE   SUBDUED.  65 

not  willingly  exchange  the  short  story  to 
which  time  would  limit  me  here,  for  a 
longer  and  much  more  entertaining  tale, 
which  I  can  read  to  you  on  our  return?  " 

"I  like  a  long  story  best,  father,  cer- 
tainly," answered  the  ready  James,  "but 
then  I  should  a  thousand  times  rather  have 
one  of  your  own,  taken  from  some  of  your 
own  voyages,  than  to  hear  any  of  those  old 
story  books.  I  cannot  say  I  care  much  for 
them." 

"  My  story  book  is  not  necessarily  an 
'old  one,'  Jemmy,  and  you  cannot  precisely 
tell  how  you  would  like  my  selection.  I 
brought  this  volume  from  Boston,  on  my 
last  return,  and  have  reserved  it  for  some 
occasion  like  the  present.  Nevertheless,  if 
you  are  all  so  minded,  I  will  fulfil  our  first 
plan,  and  relate  to  you  whatever  anecdotes 
I  can  collect  from  my  experience.  I  must 
be  brief,  however,  for  the  damps  are  gath- 
ering fast,  and  we  have  some  distance  to 
walk." 

"Well,  then,"   replied  James,    "I  give 
my  voice  for  the  new  book.     What  say 
you,  girls  ?    Is  it  a  vote  1 " 
6* 


66  PRIDE    SUBDUED. 

"  Oh,  the  long  story  for  me.  If  we  take 
the  short  one  here,  what  shall  we  do  with 
all  the  evening,  after  our  return?" 

"  You  judge  wisely,  my  little  Sue,"  said 
Mrs.  Russelj  "I  like  this  provident  fore- 
cast, and  I  doubt  not  it  will  be  well  re- 
warded. Your  father  never  selects  a  book 
for  your  entertainment,  without  a  careful 
examination  of  its  merits.  I  anticipate, 
therefore,  a  satisfactory  termination  of  our 
evening." 

Our  little  party  soon  found  it  necessary 
to  retrace  their  steps.  The  evening  still 
continued  bright  and  charming,  but  the 
falling  dews  warned  them  that  lovely  as 
was  the  scene  around,  sickness  and  suifer- 
ing  might,  result  from  a  longer  exposure  to 
its  influence. 

"  How  very  much  Mr.  Seymore's  house 
is  lighted  up  to-night,"  said  Emily,  as  they 
approached  a  stately  and  fashionable  edi- 
fice, brilliantly  illuminated.  "And  how 
many  coaches  are  drawn  up  before  it ! 
Look!  the  door  is  open,  and  there  are 
the  servants,  in  their  beautiful  new  livery, 


PRIDE   SUBDUED.  67 

showing  in  the  company.  Do  you  see, 
James?" 

"  How  grand  the  Sey  mores  are,"  ex- 
claimed the  youngest  girl.  "I  wish  you 
kept  a  carriage,  and  livery  servants,  and 
such  things,  father.  I  saw  little  Sarah  rid- 
ing all  alone  by  herself,  in  their  chariot, 
yesterday,  with  the  footman  up  behind, 
all  trimmed  with  scarlet  and  gold.  Her 
mother  always  sends  the  coach  to  bring 
her  from  school,  whenever  there  is  the  least 
drop  of  rain.  I  wish  I  was  Sarah  Seymore, 
I  know.  I  should,  be  proud  enough." 

"  You  would  soon  wish  yourself  Mary 
Russel  again,  my  dear,  if  you  could  try  the 
exchange,  I  suspect,"  replied  her  father.  "I 
assure  you,  wealth  does  not  confer  happi- 
ness, however  gaudy  its  trappings.  And  if 
it  would  make  you  '  proud,'  my  dear  child, 
it  would  certainly  remove  you  widely  from 
it.  Pride  is  as  great  an  enemy  to  content- 
ment as  it  is  to  virtue.  You  daily  pray 
*  to  be  delivered  from  temptation,'  and  you 
should,  at  the  same  time,  bless  your  hea- 
venly Father  for  having  spared  you  those 
to  which  this  little  girl  is  exposed.  All 


68  PRIDE   SUBDUED. 

this  splendor  and  luxury  is  a  temptation  to 
her  young  and  inexperienced  mind.  For 
myself,"  he  continued,  "I  cannot  well  im- 
agine how  enjoyment  can  be  increased  by 
shutting  out  the  glories  of  this  bright  and 
beautiful  night — the  mild,  soft  air,  and  this 
wide  expanse  of  heaven — to  be  pent  up  in 
close-crowded  rooms,  glaring  with  stifling 
lamps.  The  gratification  of  a  paltry  pride 
must,  I  think,  be  dearly  purchased  by  the 
sacrifice,  even  were  it,  when  attained,  a 
satisfying  acquisition." 

"  But,  dear  father,  they  must  be  lighted 
up,  when  they  see  company,"  observed 
James.  "  And  they  are  obliged  to  have 
constant  parties,  living  in  the  style  they  do, 
and  having  so  many  acquaintances.  Tom 
Seymore  told  me  that  strangers  come  al- 
most every  day  with  letters  to  his  father, 
and  you  know  he  must  invite  them." 

"  Yes,  my  son,  and  this  very  necessity 
involves  one  of  the  penalties  of  his  wealth 
and  station.  The  luxury  of  retirement, 
quiet  and  rest,  seem  absolutely  to  be  de- 
nied him.  And  the  poorest  man  in  his 
employment  does  not  labor  more  unceas- 


PRIDE   SUBDUED.  69 

ingly  in  his  vocation  than  does  this  man  of 
millions.  The  highest  luxury  that  the  ra- 
tional mind  can  enjoy,  that  of  time  for 
thought  and  intellectual  recreation,  the  pla- 
cid, sweet,  undisturbed  indulgence  of  re- 
flections to  which  such  a  walk  as  this,  on 
such  a  night,  naturally  gives  rise,  he  can 
indeed  rarely  enjoy.  Hurry,  bustle,  fash- 
ion, etiquette,  splendor,  and  incessant  com- 
pany and  visiting,  fill  every  moment  which 
business  leaves  unoccupied.  To  my  fancy, 
such  a  life  is  as  far  removed  from  happi- 
ness as  the  daily  hard  toil  of  poverty  can  be. 
And  the  only  counterpoise  for  all  this  sacri- 
fice is,  the  gratification  of  a  puerile  pride — 
a  pride  which,  to  say  the  best  of  it,  is  a 
stumbling  block  in  the  path  of  virtue." 

"  I  am  sure  Ann  Seymore  appears  happy 
enough,"  said  Emily;  "she  has  everything 
in  the  world  she  can  desire.  I  met  her  the 
other  day  in  a  jeweller's  store,  and  she 
was  purchasing  the  most  splendid  set  of 
opal  ornaments  I  ever  beheld ;  and  laying 
.down  bill  after  bill,  with  as  much  uncon- 
cern as  if  they  were  not  of  a  pin's  value. 


70  PRIDE   SUBDUED. 

I  do  not  doubt  she  buys  everything  that 
strikes  her  fancy,  cost  what  it  may." 

"  Do  not  be  deceived,  my  dear  girl,"  re- 
plied Mr.  Russel.  None  of  these  things  con- 
fer happiness,  or  even  contentment,  which, 
I  do  assure  you,  no  gold  can  purchase — no 
treasure  procure,  but  that  of  a  mind  and 
heart  well  regulated,  well  controlled,  and 
a  humble  spirit,  at  peace  with  itself  and 
its  Creator.  You  cannot  see,  Emily,  and 
therefore  cannot  judge,  any  heart  but  your 
own.  You  cannot  know  what  secret,  un- 
imagined  pangs  may  make  all  this  seem- 
ing good  a  canker  to  the  soul.  Happiness 
being  the  product  of  a  subdued,  a  humble, 
a  devout  mind,  is  as  much  within  your 
power  of  attainment,  as  it  is  in  that  of 
the  greatest  potentate"on  earth — nay,  more 
so,  in  proportion  as  your  temptations  are 
fewer." 

Emily  made  no  reply  to  her  father,  for 
she  yielded  no  assent  to  his  assertions.  Her 
understanding  did  not  gainsay  one  word, 
but  her  feelings  were  all  in  rebellion  against 
them.  She  felt  convinced  that  she  should 


PRIDE   SUBDUED.  71 

be  happy,  if  she  had  an  unlimited  purse, 
and  the  power  of  making  the  brilliant  dis- 
play she  had  so  often  envied  in  others. 
She  very  well  knew  that  her  father's  prop- 
erty would  warrant  his  living  in  a  style 
much  more  consonant  to  her  taste,  and  she 
did  not  estimate  aright  the  purity  of  his 
motives,  for  that  which  he  had  adopted. 
She  was  often  goaded  by  the  airs  of  supe- 
riority displayed  by  Miss  Ann  Seymore, 
and  a  foolish  pride  was  rankling  in  her 
heart,  when  comparing  the  gorgeousness  of 
the  whole  establishment  of  her  new  friends 
with  the  chaste  and  primitive  simplicity  of 
their  own.  .»;&  i 

Mr.  Russel  was  not  sorry  for  the  oppor- 
tunity thus  afforded  him,  of  discussing  this 
subject  in  presence  of  his  children,  dazzled 
as  they  naturally  were,  by  the  rich  display 
made  by  the  fashionable  strangers  recently 
established  in  their  neighborhood.  Emily's 
observations  had  favorably  introduced  it, 
and  he  thankfully  followed  up  the  advan-  • 
tage,  amplifying,  and  throwing  in  such  re- 
marks as  he  thought -might  favorably  affect 
their  minds.  It -was  particularly  in  refer- 


72  PRIDE   SUBDUED. 

ence  to  his  eldest  daughter,  just  now  upon 
the  threshold  of  life,  and  peculiarly  exposed 
to  the  pernicious  influence  of  fashionable 
follies,  that  he  had  selected  the  volume  to 
which  he  had  alluded,  having  found  a  story 
exceedingly  applicable  to  her  case,  and  cal- 
culated, as  he  thought,  powerfully  to  affect 
a  heart  naturally  affectionate  and  kind. 

The  lamps  were  lighted,  the  work  pro- 
duced, chairs  drawn  around  the  table,  and 
the  little  expectant  circle,  with  bright  coun- 
tenances and  suppressed  breath,  waited  im- 
patiently the  promised  treat,  when  a  strong 
pull  at  the  door  bell  announced  visitors. 

"  Was  there  ever  anything  so  unfortu- 
nate?" exclaimed  Susan. 

"  O  dear !  how  unlucky  we  are  !  I  do 
wish  they  had  not  come,  just  to  spoil  all 
our  evening,"  said  Mary. 

"It  is  always  so!"  added  James  moodily 
— "every  pleasure  snatched  away." 

But  how  rarely  do  we  pronounce  wisely 
or  justly,  upon  the  good  or  ill  fortune,  (as 
it  is  called,)  of  the  daily  events  of  God's 
providence  !  We  know  little  indeed,  what 
will  be  the  effect  upon  our  state  and  con- 


PRIDE   SUBDUED.  73 

dition,  of  any  occurrence  which  crosses  our 
path ;  yet  we  pronounce  with  unrighteous 
boldness  upon  all; — not  children  alone,  but 
those  of  a  larger  growth,  are  too  apt  to  be 
guilty  of  this  criminal  want  of  filial  trust, 
and  speak  with  confident  bitterness  upon 
the  "very  unfortunate,  unlucky  accidents" 
which  have  thwarted  their  calculations,  or 
interrupted  their  plans.  Alas  !  we  may  well 
exclaim,  with  one  who  mourned  this  hu- 
man frailty,  "  O  ye  of  little  faith  !  "  Why 
will  we  not  learn  to  confide,  and  believe 
that  whatever  is  ordered  by  the  wisest,  the 
best,  the  tenderest  of  guardians,  will  ever 
be  for  us  "  the  most  fortunate,"  the  most 
"lucky"  events?  To  learn  to  wait  is  a 
difficult  lesson. 

The  visiters  proved  to  be  a  gentleman 
and  lady,  recently  returned  from  abroad, 
after  four  years  absence,  during  which  they 
had  viewed  all  the  wonders  of  the  old 
world,  explored,  analyzed,  and  laid  up  trea- 
sures from  abundant  fountains ;  and  they 
entertained — almost  entranced  their  young 
auditors,  by  their  details,  anecdotes,  adven- 
tures and  "hair-breadth  'scapes."  And 
7 


74  PRIDE   SUBDUED. 

when,  after  a  long  evening,  they  at  last  de- 
parted, each  one  declared  "  that  they  never 
in  their  whole  lives  had  had  such  a  treat ! 
— so  delightful  an  evening !  " 

"  O,  how  glad  I  am  that  they  came  !  " 

"  We  little  thought  how  we  were  to  be 
entertained,  when  they  rang  the  bell." 

"  When  do  you  think  they  will  come 
again,  mother  ? — What  a  charming  woman 
she  is  ! " 

"I  do  not  believe  any  of  your  printed 
stories  could  be  half  so  interesting — half  so 
amusing,  as  these  they  have  told  us.  I  do 
enjoy  such  things." 

"  Only  to  think  of  their  crossing  the  Alps, 
too  ! " 

"  Yes; — and  what  a  funny  time  they  had 
when  they  left  Rome  !  " 

"Ah!  -but  the  Carnival  frolics  were  the 
best  joke,  after  all." 

Such  were  the  exclamations  of  the  ani- 
mated little  group,  on  review  of  their  even- 
ing's delights. 

"Charming  as  all  these  things  are,  my 
dear  children,  and  impressive  as  the  lesson 
may  be,  which  you  derive  from  this  inter- 


PRIDE   SUBDUED.  75 

ruption  of  our  evening's  plans,  it  is  now  too 
late  to  talk  more  of  them  to-night.  You 
must  go  to  bed,  and  dream,  if  you  can, 
about  all  these  enchanting  details.  I  have 
letters  to  write,  which  can  no  longer  be  de- 
layed. I  am  very  glad  you  have  so  much 
enjoyed  your  evening,  and  to-morrow  we 
will  again  discuss  its  various  topics.  Good 
night  to  you  all." 

The  little  ones  well  knew  there  was  no 
appeal  from  this  sentence ;  and  though  they 
would  willingly  have  sat  asking  questions 
and  making  comments,  until  midnight,  and 
were  quite  sure  they  were  not  the  least 
sleepy,  they  hesitated  not  to  imprint  the 
parting  kiss  upon  the  offered  cheek  of  their 
beloved  parent,  and  to  prepare  for  rest. 

Desirous  of  fulfilling  every  promise,  given 
or  implied,  and  to  employ  every  means  of 
enlarging  and  improving  the  minds  of  his 
children,  Mr.  Russel,  on  the  following 
evening,  renewed  with  them  their  favorite 
walk,  and  delighted  their  young  hearts 
with  long  and  spirited  details  of  his  adven- 
tures abroad ;  and  having,  as  he  hoped,  pro- 
duced a  state  of  feeling  favorable  to  the 


76  PRIDE    SUBDUED. 

moral  impression  he  desired  should  be  made, 
he  fulfilled  their  earnest  wishes,  by  read- 
ing, on  their  return,  the  appropriate  story 
selected  for  the  preceding  evening's  amuse- 
ment, and  which  was  so  unceremoniously 
interrupted  by  their  visiters. 

The  careful  parents  had  watched  with 
anxiety -every  dawning  fault  in  the  minds 
of  their  children,  and  hoped,  by  following 
the  excellent  rule  of  giving  "  line  upon  line, 
and  precept  upon  precept,"  gently  to  re- 
move every  shadow  which  tarnished  the 
purity  of  that  foundation  on  which  the  im- 
portant superstructure  of  character  should 
be  raised.  But  radical  defects  are  not 
speedily  rooted  out;  and  the  emotions  of 
aristocratic  pride,  just  putting  forth  its  in- 
cipient indications  in  the  heart  of  their  old- 
est, much  loved  daughter,  required  patient 
labor,  and  much  thoughtfulness,  to  eradi- 
cate. Parental  affection,  however,  never 
falters  ;  and  every  opportunity  was  eagerly 
embraced,  to  effect  the  important  object 
they  had  so  much  at  heart. 

Mrs.  Russel  was  possessed  of  some  facts 
relative  to  the  Seymore  family,  the  recital 


,.  PRIDE   SUBDUED.  77 

of  which  she  did  not  doubt  would  greatly 
lessen  their  influence  upon  Emily's  mind, 
and  reduce  the  effect  produced  by  the  proud 
display  of  affluence  and  luxury  in  which 
they  indulged,  and  lessen  the  importance 
all  are  too  much  disposed  to  attach  to 
wealth  and  fashion.  But  the  pure  and 
guileless  heart,  filled  with  charity  and  good 
will,  revolts  to  present  the  faults  of  a  fellow 
being  to  public  scrutiny,  or  to  remove  the  veil 
which  conceals  their  moral  deformity,  even 
to  produce  a  beneficial  result.  Mrs.  Russel 
shrunk  from  the  ungracious  task,  and  re- 
served her  communications  for  a  last  resort, 
when  circumstances  should  call  more  impe- 
riously for  them.  She  was  not  permitted  a 
long  reprieve.  A  more  serious  display  of 
Emily's  besetting  sin,  soon  induced  the  un- 
pleasant recital.  The  pain  of  this  duty, 
however,  was  ameliorated  by  the  necessity 
it  involved,  of  painting  the  virtues  and  high- 
minded  character  of  a  beloved  friend,  ac- 
companied with  incidents  she  had  hitherto 
felt  bound  to  conceal. 

"Emily,  will  you   walk  with  me   this 
morning?"  she  said  to  her  daughter,  a  few 
7* 


78  PRIDE   SUBDUED. 

days  after  the  conversation  just  detailed — 
"  I  have  some  shopping,  and  some  few  calls 
to  make,  and  the  weather  is  remarkably 
fine." 

"I  wish  we  could  ride,  mother,"  replied 
Emily  ;  I  cannot  say  I  much  like  walking 
about,  making  calls.  They  say  it  is  very 
ungenteel ;  and  I  am  sure  I  think  so." 

"  They  say!  Emily; — pray  who  are  they, 
that  settle  this  matter  so  promptly  ?  " 

"  Why,  everybody,  mother,  that  knows 
anything  about  fashion.  I  heard  the  Sey- 
mores  laugh  heartily,  the  other  day,  about 
some  ones  'trudging'  along  through  the 
dirty  streets — without  a  servant,  too — ring- 
ing themselves  at  their  neighbor's  doors! 
It  certainly  does  seem  vulgar  enough,  and 
I  cannot  imagine  why  we  do  not  keep  a 
carriage.  I  am  sure  father  might  do  so 
very  well,  if  he  pleased.  But,  however,  I 
will  go  with  you,  mother,  if  you  will  please 
to  wait  for  me  a  moment,  while  I  just  put 
on  my  new  hat,  and  smooth  the  folds  of 
my  pelerine  a  little.  Shall  you  call  at  Mrs. 
Turner's  and  Mrs.  Fearon's,  mother?  You 
are  owing  them  calls,  I  believe.  " 


PRIDE   SUBDUED.  79 

"  Yes,  my  dear,  and  on  Mrs.  Mott." 

"  O,  dear !  I  hope  you  are  not  going  to 
see  that  little  mean  looking  Mrs.  Mott !  I 
really  hate  to  be  seen  going  there.  I  do 
not  believe  anybody  visits  her  beside  you." 

Mrs.  Russel  looked  exceedingly  pained 
by  this  exhibition  of  her  daughter's  mind. 
But  for  the  present,  she  forebore  entering 
upon  a  subject  she  deemed  so  seriously  im- 
portant, until  there  was  an  opportunity 
fully  to  discuss  it.  She  therefore  made  no 
reply  to  these  remarks. 

"  I  really  wish  my  gloves  fitted  a  little 
better  than  they  do,"  pursued  the  discon- 
tented girl,  while  she  gave  a  finishing  pull 
to  her  white  kids,  as  she  followed  her  pa- 
tient mother  into  the  street.  "  I  never  saw 
such  great  unsightly  sacks  as  they  are. 
Ann  Seymore  was  an  hour  picking  out 
gloves,  last  Wednesday,  at  Palmer's — full 
an  hour — measuring  and  trying,  bundle  af- 
ter bundle,  to  get  a  good  nice  fit.  I  do  not 
believe  she  would  wear  a  pair  that  had  a 
single  wrinkle  in  them;  and  only  to  see 
these  things ! " 


80  PRIDE   SUBDUED. 

"Ah,  my  dear  daughter,"  sighed  Mrs. 
Russel,  "I  am  sorry  to  find  you  giving 
consequence  to  trifles  so  utterly  unimpor- 
tant. Your  mind  is  becoming  strangely 
bewildered  of  late,  by  the  mere  fripperies  of 
fashion.  I  scarcely  know  you,  my  child, 
under  these  new  influences." 

Just  at  this  moment,  a  decent,  but  appar- 
ently an  obscure,  middle-aged  female  passed 
them,  upon  the  opposite  side.  Mrs.  Russel 
bowed  and  spoke  to  her  with  pointed  polite- 
ness, and  much  cordiality.  Emily,  mean- 
while, adroitly  glided  behind  her  mother, 
but  colored  deeply.  Soon  as  they  had 
passed,  she  exclaimed  with  energy — 

"Mother!  I  wonder  why  you  will  al- 
ways bow  to  that  disagreeable  old  Mrs. 
Allison.  You  gave  her  one  of  your  most 
polite  and  graceful  bows,  just  now;  and 
there  was  Mrs.  Seymore  and  her  daughters 
passing,  in  their  elegant  new  carriage,  at 
the  very  moment.  They  looked  directly  at 
us,  too !  and  Ann  smiled  so  contemptu- 
ously, and  turned  up  her  nose,  and  curled 
her  lip  with  such  an  air  of  disdain,  to  see 
you  noticing  such  low  folks!  Even  the 


PRIDE    SUBDUED.  81 

footman  sneered  impudently.  I  did  feel 
mortified  !  " 

"  The  footman's  sneer  was  much  more 
excusable  than  your  mortification,  Emily, 
for  he  is  an  ignorant  man,  and  has  proba- 
bly been  but  little  instructed  in  his  moral 
duties,  either  by  the  precept  or  example  of 
his  employers.  But  from  you,  my  child,  I 
had  hoped  better  things ;  and  your  whole 
conversation,  this  morning,  developes  feel- 
ings so  very  reprehensible,  that  I  scarcely 
know  in  what  manner  to  reply  to  them, 
and  am  wholly  unable  to  express  the  pain 
you  have  caused  me." 

"  I  am  sorry,  mother ;  I  did  not  intend 
to  distress  you,  by  my  remarks." 

"  But  tell  me,  if  you  can,  Emily,  why  I 
should  not  bow  politely  to  Mrs.  Allison. 
What  objection  have  you  to  her?  What 
do  you  know  against  her?" 

"  Why,  nothing  very  particular,  mother, 
only  she  is  so  old-fashioned,  and  poor,  and 
vulgar;  and  looks  so  formal,  everybody 
laughs  at  her." 

"Everybody!  Emily!  are  you  sure  that 
everybody  laughs  at  her  ?  said  Mrs.  Russel. 


82  PRIDE   SUBDUED. 

"  I  mean  all  the  girls,  mother ;  and  Mrs. 
Seymore  and  Ann  always  laugh,  she  looks 
so  vulgar,  in  her  old  black  bonnet." 

"  Poverty  is  not  vulgarity,  my  dear  Emi- 
ly. And  if  it  were,  let  me  ask  you,  Is  Mrs. 
Allison  guilty  of  having  brought  it  upon 
herself?  Do  you  know  of  any  improper 
conduct  by  which  she  has  become  degraded 
and  poor?" 

"Indeed  I  do  not  know  what  has  made 
her  poor,  dear  mother.  No,  I  do  not  sup- 
pose she  could  avoid  it.  It  is  not  probable." 

"  Then  surely  she  cannot  be  less  re- 
spectable, less  estimable,  for  being  so,  or  in 
any  degree  'ridiculous,'  or  'vulgar,'  on  that 
account.  Nor  are  we,  Emily,  one  whit 
more  worthy,  or  more  respectable,  for  hav- 
ing abundance  ;  since,  like  Mrs.  Allison,  we 
have  done  nothing  to  bring  ourselves  into 
the  situations  we  occupy  in  society.  It  is 
the  allotment  of  Providence,  which  has  ap- 
pointed to  each  our  place  and  our  duties — 
surrounding  us  with  every  comfort,  and 
throwing  the  shades  of  obscurity  over  the 
humble  lot  of  the  excellent  Mrs.  Allison; 
and  in  both  cases,  by  circumstances  over 


PRIDE   SUBDUED.  S3 

which  we  had  no  control.  I  pray  God  I 
may  be  as  faithful  in  my  vocation  as  she 
has  ever  been  in  hers.  And  now,  let  me  ask 
you  again,  Emily,  why  we  should  think 
ourselves  more  deserving,  or  my  friend  less 
so,  on  account  of  this  accidental  difference 
of  situation." 

"  Really,  I  do  not  know  why  we  should, 
mother ;  but  the  Seymores  laughed  so  much 
to  see  you  bowing  and  smiling  so  very  gra- 
ciously, and  so  familiarly,  too,  to  such  a 
mean  looking,  vulgar  old  body." 

"  Emily!  must  I  repeat  to  you  again  that 
poverty  is  not  vulgarity  ? — that  it  is  igno- 
rance and  vice  alone,  which  can  render  any 
one  vulgar  ?  And  from  these,  none  are  far- 
ther removed  than  Mrs.  Allison.  Her  edu- 
cation, her  acquirements,  her  moral  culture, 
are  far  above  my  own,  and  immeasurably 
above  those  of  Mrs.  Seymore,  whose  laugh 
of  derision  seems  so  much  to  have  alarmed 
your  pride ;  for  your  '  everybody,'  I  see, 
after  all,  means  no  more  than  Mrs.  Sey- 
more and  her  daughters.  I  have  seen,  my 
child,  with  much  regret,  this  foolish  pride 
gaining  strength  in  your  heart,  and  the  un- 


84  PRIDE    SUBDUED. 

due  importance  you  attach  to  wealth  and 
station.  Believe  me,  they  are  entitled  to 
your  respect,  only  so  far  as  they  are  em- 
ployed for  the  benefit  of  our  fellow  crea- 
tures. You  should  not  suffer  yourself  to  be 
mortified  when  your  conscience  does  not  ac- 
cuse you  of  anything  wrong.  You  should 
not  stand  in  so  much  awe  of  wealth,  as  to 
permit  it  to  make  you  blush  for  anything 
not  in  itself  blamable.  In  this  case,  it  has 
caused  you  to  be  extremely  unjust." 

"  Dear  mother,  how  have  I  been  un- 
just?" 

"  When  we  allow  ourselves  to  condemn 
from  appearances  only,  we  are  always  in 
danger  of  being  unjust,  my  child.  You 
have  established  it  in  your  mind,  as  a  fact 
indisputable,  that  Mrs.  Allison  is,  (to  use 
your  own  inelegant  expression,)  'a  vulgar 
old  body,'  unworthy  of  notice,  because  she 
appears  to  be  poor  and  friendless,  and  wears 
a  dress  somewhat  worn  and  antiquated. 
And  again,  upon  no  better  foundation,  you 
have  concluded  that  Mrs.  Seymore  must  be 
very  respectable  ;  and  have  granted  her,  in 
consequence,  a  very  pernicious  influence 


PRIDE    SUBDUED.  85 

over  your  mind,  merely  because  her  attire 
is  more  expensive,  her  equipage  and  style 
of  living  more  rich  and  fashionable  than 
usual.  In  all  this,  you  are  unjust  and  il- 
liberal. Now  I  happen  to  be  well  informed 
respecting  the  history  of  both  these  indi- 
viduals, Emily,  and  at  a  more  favorable 
opportunity,  I  will  relate  some  of  the  most 
prominent  circumstances  of  their  lives,  that 
I  may  effectually  prove  to  you  that  pov- 
erty and  vulgarity  are  not  necessarily  con- 
nected, and  to  impress  strongly  upon  your 
mind  the  impropriety  of  judging  so  hastily 
as  you  are  disposed  to  do." 

"  O  do  !  do !  mother,  tell  me  all  about 
it.  I  wish  exceedingly  to  know  about  the 
Sey  mores,  and  how  they  became  so  very 
rich.  And  I  wish  more,  to  understand 
why  it  is  you  always  look  so  stately  and 
serious,  when  you  meet  them:  it  is  so 
strange,  so  unusual,  for  you  to  assume  a 
haughty  manner — you  are  always  so  pleas- 
ant to  every  one  else,  even  to  that  Mrs. 
Allison,  who,  after  all,  does  seem  to  me 
vulgar  and  disagreeable,  and  I  do  dislike 
her  exceedingly,  notwithstanding  you  say 
8 

' 


86  PRIDE    SUBDUED. 

she  is  not  so ;  and  indeed,  I  should  abso- 
lutely think  you  loved  the  woman." 

"  Most  certainly  I  do  love  her  !  And  if 
this  foolish  pride  has  not  quite  corrupted 
your  heart,  and  overpowered  the  good  prin- 
ciples you  once  possessed,  you,  Emily,  will 
love  her  too,  when  this  mist  of  prejudice  is 
removed,  like  a  film  from  your  eyes,  and 
when,  like  myself,  you  see  beneath  that 
faded  garb,  an  elegant,  refined  mind,  and  a 
heart  filled  with  benevolence  and  affection- 
ate feeling.  You  shall  tell  me  in  the  end, 
which  of  these  women  is  the  most  honor- 
able acquaintance." 

"Ah,  mother,"  said  Emily,  smiling,  "I 
shall  not  hesitate  long  upon  that  subject, 
most  certainly.  To  be  sure,  Mrs.  Seymore 
must  be  the  most  honorable  acquaintance. 
Beside,  she  may  be  good,  I  suppose,  though 
she  is  rich." 

"Yes,  my  daughter,  but  not  because  she 
is  rich  ;  that  is  all  I  ask  you  to  believe,  un- 
til you  know  something  more  of  her  claims 
upon  your  regard.  But  here  we  are  at  Mrs. 
Fearon's,  and  we  must  postpone  further 
discussion  on  this  subject  until  our  return." 


PRIDE   SUBDUED.  87 

The  whole  morning  was  consumed  in 
the  various  visits,  shopping,  &c.,  which 
had  called  them  out.  It  was  late,  therefore,, 
hefore  Mrs.  Russel  and  Emily  found  them- 
selves again  at  home  ;  when  they  immedi- 
ately separated  to  prepare  for  dinner  ;  and 
it  was  not  until  they  returned  to  the  draw- 
ing-room in  the  afternoon,  that  any  oppor- 
tunity occurred  for  the  promised  recital. 
Neither  the  one,  or  the  other,  however,  had 
lost  sight  of  the  subject.  The  mother 
hoped,  by  a  plain  relation  of  facts,  (which 
delicacy  had  hitherto  confined  within  her 
own  bosom,)  to  make  a  powerful  attack 
upon  those  offensive  prejudices  which  seem- 
ed to  be  fixing  themselves  upon  the  heart 
of  her  daughter.  She  well  knew  that  there 
was  a  counteracting  principle  strong  within 
her,  if  it  could  be  seasonably  excited  to 
action ;  and  she  doubted  not,  a  timely  ap- 
peal to  her  better  feelings,  would  strength- 
en her  effectually  against  the  evil  influences 
to  which  she  was  exposed. 

Emily,  on  her  part,  felt  her  curiosity  ac- 
tively excited  to  learn  the  basis  of  her 
mother's  strong  impressions  towards  these 


88  PRIDE    SUBDUED. 

two  individuals.  She  could  not  well  im- 
agine any  reasons,  sufficiently  powerful,  for 
the  repugnance  she  manifested  to  the  in- 
creasing intimacy  of  a  family  so  genteel, 
and  moving  in  the  highest  circles  of  fash- 
ion, so  splendid  in  their  establishment,  and 
all  the  paraphernalia  of  high  ton ;  so 
sought — so  courted  by  all.  Nor  could  she 
perceive  any  better  grounds  for  her  wonder- 
ful partiality  for  an  old  woman  so  singularly 
uninviting,  so  antiquated,  so  insignificant, 
and  so  obscure,  as  Mrs.  Allison  still  appear- 
ed to  her.  When,  therefore,  the  children 
had  been  recalled  to  the  nursery,  and  she 
found  herself  quietly  seated  at  her  em- 
broidery, beside  her  mother  in  the  drawing- 
room,  she  failed  not  to  resume  the  subject, 
by  inquiring  of  her  "how  long  she  had 
known  Mrs.  Allison." 

"  From  early  youth,  my  dear  Emily. 
Before  I  had  attained  your  years,  she  was 
my  chosen,  my  bosom  friend ;  and  though 
circumstances  have  induced  her  to  retire 
from  society,  and  to  seek  a  seclusion  which 
I  dare  not  invade,  she  has  never  ceased  to 
be  very  dear  to  me." 


PRIDE   SUBDUED.  89 

"  The  father  of  Mrs.  Allison  was  a  man 
of  the  finest  talents,  and  irreproachable 
character.  He  was  some  years  governor  of 
the  state  of ,  where  he  lived  until  with- 
in the  last  ten  years.  His  property  was 
scarcely  sufficient  for  his  wants  in  the  sta- 
tion he  filled,  and  at  his  death,  he  left  noth- 
ing but  his  high  and  unspotted  reputation, 
as  a  legacy  to  this  his  only  child.  He  had 
given  to  her,  however,  every  advantage  of 
education,  and  well  did  she  repay  the  in- 
dulgence ;  for  her  improvement  in  mind  and 
heart  was  constant  and  rapid.  She  was 
amiable,  lovely,  and  accomplished.  Her 
benevolence  was  almost  proverbial.  No 
one  was  sick  or  afflicted,  for  miles  around 
her  father's  dwelling,  to  whom  she  did  not 
appear  as  a  ministering  angel,  to  soothe, 
comfort  and  relieve.  When  " 

"What!  Mrs.  Allison,  mother?"  ex- 
claimed Emily,  whose  astonishment  could 
no  longer  be  repressed. 

"Wait  patiently,  until  I  have  finished, 

my  dear ;  do  not  interrupt  me,  and  your 

curiosity   shall  be  fully  satisfied.      When 

she  married  Mr.  Allison,  all  was  smiling, 

8* 


90  PRIDE   SUBDUED. 

and  bright,  and  joyous  in  the  prospect  be- 
fore her.  Wealth,  honor,  character,  and 
love  the  most  devoted,  were  uniteS  to 
spread  around  her  the  fairest  promise  of 
happiness,  as  lasting  as  it  was  pure.  Alas  ! 
it  was  a  promise  never  to  be  realized !  It 
glittered  but  for  a  moment,  like .  the  gay 
fancies  of  a  morning's  dream,  and  then  was 
lost  in  the  deepest  realities  of  sorrow ! 

"  At  the  time  of  this  marriage,  your 
uncle,  Charles  Clinton,  (who  was  a  near 
neighbor  of  her  father's,  and  had  been 
known  to  her  from  his  youth,)  was  but  a 
poor  captain  of  a  vessel,  in  the  employ  of  a 
selfish  and  sordid  merchant — without  for- 
tune, and  without  any  efficient  commercial 
friends  to  aid  his  upward  course.  Good, 
honest,  upright,  and  with  as  noble  a  soul 
as  ever  man  was  blest  with,  he  was  yet 
struggling  and  toiling  almost  hopelessly 
against  his  adverse  destiny.  Fortune  un- 
relentingly frowned  upon  all  his  fairest  ex- 
ertions. I  was  then,  my  dear  Emily,  a 
portionless  orphan,  and  dependent  upon  the 
love  and  protection  of  this  dear  and  esti- 
mable brother.  My  friend  no  sooner  be- 


PRIDE   SUBDUED.  91 

came  the  betrothed  of  a  wealthy  man,  than 
she  sought  to  interest  him  in  our  fate.  It 
was  his  delight  to  aid  her  active  benevo- 
lence. He  gave  your  uncle  immediate, 
constant,  and  lucrative  employment,  and 
threw  such  facilities  and  advantages  in  his 
•way,  as  he  could  never  otherwise  have 
commanded,  and,  in  fact,  laid  the  broad 
foundation  of  that  affluence  which  we  now 
enjoy.  Your  uncle's  lamented  death,  as 
you  well  know,  put  me  in  possession  of  his 
ample  fortune. 

"  Mr.  Allison  was  an  English  gentleman, 
of  the  first  respectability  in  character,  rank 
and  fortune.  His  father,  unhappily,  enter- 
ed into  large  and  dangerous  speculations, 
which,  within  four  years  after  the  marriage 
of  his  son,  had  a  most  disastrous  issue.  He 
became  unexpectedly  a  bankrupt ;  and  such 
was  the  connection  between  them,  that  the 
son  was  overwhelmed  in  the  ruin  of  the 
father. 

"  Never  shall  I  forget  the  noble  conduct  of 
my  dear  friend,  at  this  trying  period.  With 
habits  of  munificence  like  hers,  these  re- 
verses must  have  been  appalling.  She  had 


92  PRIDE    SUBDUED. 

collected  a  band  of  pensionaries  around  her, 
who  depended  almost  exclusively  upon  her 
for  employment,  and  consequently,  for  their 
daily  bread.  She  had  opened  so  many 
avenues  by  which  her  bounty  flowed  in  re- 
freshing streams  to  gladden  desolate  hearts, 
and  spread  comfort  around  dark  and  cheer- 
less hearths,  that  it  would  seem  as  if  misery 
must  follow  the  closing  up  of  those  foun- 
tains of  mercy,  which  had  reached  and 
blessed  them.  But  her  activity  arrested  the 
anticipated  evil.  Her  exertions  were  un- 
wearied. She  made  known  to  her  wealthy 
and  powerful  friends,  the  capabilities  of 
one,  the  faithfulness  and  industry  of  anoth- 
er, the  merit  and  helplessness  of  a  third, 
the  goodness  and  devotion  of  all.  She  as- 
sailed the  compassion  of  one  heart,  the  self- 
interest  of  another,  and  the  better  principles 
of  both ;  and  in  fact,  ceased  not  her  efforts, 
until  she  had  procured  new  guardians  and 
protectors,  for  all  whom  she  deemed  deserv- 
ing assistance. 

At  home,  she  was  not  less  energetic,  in 
sustaining  her  poor  husband  under  this 
prostrating  calamity.  She  was  an  example 


PRIDE    SUBDUED.  93 

worthy  of  all  imitation ;  cheerful,  resigned, 
uncomplaining,  and  full  of  hope  and  love. 
She  continued  to  throw  sunshine  in  upon 
his  heart,  notwithstanding  the  thick  dark- 
ness which  enveloped  his  prospects.  Well 
did  he  know  her  worth,  and  fully  did  he 
reciprocate  her  affection ;  but  their  reverses 
compelled  them  to  part ;  and  even  this  she 
bore,  without  a  murmur  at  the  hard  neces- 
sity. 

"Leaving  this  young  and  lovely  wife  with 
her  aged  parent,  whom  she  could  not  for- 
sake in  her  advanced  age  and  increasing 
infirmities,  Mr.  Allison  immediately  sailed 
for  Europe,  that  he  might  ascertain  if  any- 
thing could  possibly  be  saved  from  the  gen- 
eral ruin,  or  the  best  method  of  averting  its 
worst  consequences. 

"  When,  after  a  boisterous  passage,  they 
neared  the  coast  of  England,  they  encoun- 
tered a  tremendous  gale;  the  ship  was 
wrecked,  and  every  soul  perished !  " 

"  Oh,  horror  !  "  exclaimed  the  tender- 
hearted Emily ;  "  what  did  his  wife  do  ?  " 

"My  heart  bleeds  at  the  recollection  of 
her  awful  sufferings  at  that  distressing 


'94  PRIDE   SUBDUED. 

period,"  continued  Mrs.  Russel.  "The 
stroke  was  almost  annihilating,  and  I 
feared  she  would  sink  under  it;  but  her 
religion  was  steadfast,  and  it  sustained  her. 
She  had  treasured  it  in  her  prosperity,  and 
it  did  not  fail  her  now  that  her  dark  hour 
had  come.  Its  promises  and  its  hopes  shed 
a  radiance  which  penetrated  even  this  deep 
-gloom,  and  brought  peace  and  resignation 
to  her  soul.  Her  conduct  was  that  of  a 
meek  and  humble  Christian,  whose  faith  in 
the  goodness,  and  wisdom,  and  mercy  of 
the  great  Almighty  Ruler  of  our  destiny, 
was  fixed  arid  immovable,  but  her  earthly 
hopes  were  buried  in  the  grave  of  her  de- 
parted friend. 

"When  a  little  recovered  from  the  first 
overpowering  shock,  Mrs.  Allison  employed 
her  many  accomplishments  to  gain  a  repu- 
table support.  Her  father's  long  infirmities 
had  completely  drained  his  early  resources. 
Till  time  and  suffering  had  enfeebled  her 
constitution,  however,  she  was  always  able 
to  make  a  respectable  appearance ;  but  as 
her  means  declined,  her  hollow-hearted 
friends,  who  had  bowed  to  her  wealth  and 


PRIDE    SUBDUED.  95 

enjoyed  its  splendor,  dropped  away,  one  af- 
ter another.  They  had  basked  fondly  in  the 
sunshine  of  her  prosperity,  but  they  shrunk 
timidly  and  coldly  away  when  the  gloom 
of  night  enshrouded  her  fortunes.  They 
thought  perhaps,  with  you,  Emily,  that  she 
had  become  '  vulgar  ! '  ' 

"O  don't,  don't  say  so,  mother!"  exclaim- 
ed the  repentant  girl. 

"  Her  retirement  from  society,"  continued 
Mrs.  Russel ,  ' '  became  a  thing  of  course.  At 
present,  she  is  able  to  do  little,  from  the  ex- 
treme delicacy  of  her  health ;  nevertheless, 
she  prefers  relying  upon  her  own  exertions, 
her  own  scanty  resources,  to  making  known 
the  extent  of  her  necessities  to  the  relations 
of  her  husband,  who,  it  is  said,  are  again  in 
affluent  circumstances.  But  tell  me,  my 
daughter,  is  such  a  woman  to  blush  for  her 
poverty  1  Are  we  to  pass  by  her  in  silence, 
with  averted  looks,  fearing  to  recognize  her, 
because  some  of  our  more  opulent  and  fash- 
ionable acquaintance  happen  to  be  near  at 
the  time,  and  may  smile  in  derision  ?  " 

"  No  !  no  indeed,  mother."  replied  Emily, 
eagerly,  "it  would  be  cruel  and  ungrateful. 


96  PRIDE    SUBDUED. 

and  wicked  to  do  so.  I  am  sure  I  feel  truly 
ashamed  to  think  I  indulged  such  proud 
thoughts  for  a  moment;  but  it  was  seeing; 
Ann  Seymore,  and  her  mother  too,  look  and 
laugh  so  contemptuously.  Ann  made  up 
such  a  queer  face,  when  she  saw  your  very 
polite  bow — I  wish  you  could  have  seen  it — 
and  gave  her  head  such  a  toss ;  and  then  I 
did  not  know  all  these  things,  you  remem- 
ber, mother." 

"  No,  my  dear  ;  you  judged  without 
knowing,  and  from  appearances,"  said  her 
mother  impressively. 

Emily  blushed  deeply,  when  her  mother 
made  this  reply,  for  she  recollected  that  it 
was  for  hasty  judgment,  as  well  as  for  wicked 
pride,  that  she  had  been  corrected.  After  a 
short  pause,  however,  she  asked  modestly, 
"if  she  would  not  tell  her  about  the  Sey- 
mores,  as  she  had  promised." 

"I  shall  tell  of  their  course  with  much 
less  pleasure,  my  child,"  resumed  Mrs.  Rus- 
sel ;  "  and  were  it  not  to  impress  a  most  use- 
ful and  important  lesson  upon  your  mind, 
which  I  regret  to  say  you  greatly  require,  I 
would  much  prefer  to  leave  their  history 


PRIDE    SUBDUED.  97 

unrelated.  It  is  painful  to  speak  of  those 
whom  we  cannot  and  ought  not  to  com- 
mend. 

"Mr.  Seymore's  father  was  an  honest 
and  respectable  shoemaker  at  the  north  end 
of  Boston • 

"  A  shoemaker  !  mother,"  exclaimed 

Emily,  starting  with  surprise. 

"Yes,  my  dear,  a  shoemaker;  but  that  of 
itself  is  nothing  in  his  disfavor,  if,  as  I  said, 
he  was  an  honest  and  a  worthy  man.  See, 
again  you  are  about  to  pass  judgment  and 
condemn  a  person  as  'vulgar,'  because  his 
station  is  humble." 

"  No,  mother,  not  because  his  station  is 
humble ;  but  it  seems  so  very  surprising, 
that  the  rich  Mr.  Seymore's  father  should 
have  been  a  shoemaker  !  of  all  things." 

"  Not  at  all,  my  dear;  in  our  young  coun- 
try, few  of  us  can  look  back  many  genera- 
tions, without  encountering  some  such  cir- 
cumstance to  mortify  our  family  pride. 
When  our  forefathers  sought  these  shores, 
they  made  prodigious  sacrifices  for  the  in- 
dulgence of  their  religious  freedom.  Few  of 
their  descendants,  under  such  circumstances 
9 


98  PRIDE   SUBDUED. 

as  the  early  history  of  our  country  presents, 
but  were  obliged  to  have  recourse  to  some 
mechanical  labor  for  the  support  of  their 
families,  or  the  establishment  of  the  younger 
branches.  But  if  you  interrupt  me  thus, 
I  shall  not  have  time  to  relate  to  you  all  I 
intended.  The  son  of  this  shoemaker,  then, 
the  present  Mr.  Seymore,  as  soon  as  he  was 
old  enough,  was  placed  upon  his  father's 
bench  to  learn  the  same  trade,  and  was  of- 
ten employed  in  carrying  shoes  to  a  neigh- 
bor's house  to  be  bound.  This  woman,  who 
gained  a  livelihood  by  washing,  binding 
shoes,  and  sundry  similar  employments, 
had  a  daughter,  who  was  literally  brought 
up  in  the  street,  where  I  have  often  seen 
her,  in  my  frequent  visits  to  Boston,  carry- 
ing about  little  twists  of  molasses  candy,  to 
sell  to  the  children  of  the  neighborhood.  She 
was  consequently  extremely  illiterate,  coarse 
and  bold  in  her  manners,  and  in  all  respects 
truly  '  vulgar ; '  for  nature  had  given  her  a 
cunning  and  malignant  temper.  She  was 
nevertheless  exceedingly  pretty,  both  in  face 
and  figure,  so  much  so,  that  poor  Jacob  be- 
came quite  charmed,  in  their  frequent  meet- 


PRIDE    SUBDUED.  99 

ings,  and  resolved  that  as  soon  as  he  could 
'compass  the  cash,'  he  would  marry  the 
girl.  He  was  now  very  urgent  with  his 
father  to  release  him  from  the  shop.,  and 
permit  him  to  go  to  sea.  As  consent  could 
not  be  obtained,  he  ran  away,  and  became 
a  sailor  without  it. 

"At  first  he  sailed  as  cabin  boy;  but  he 
was  an  active,  shrewd  lad,  and  after  a  few 
years,  was  promoted.  In  process  of  time, 
becoming  an  experienced  seaman,  he  deemed 
himself  able  to  begin  the  world  with  his 
pretty  wife.  He  married  Dolly  Beckford, 
and  continued  to  follow  the  sea  for  some 
years.  It  was  in  one  of  his  trips  to  Havana, 
that  he  became  acquainted  with  the  crew 
of  a  Guinea  ship  about  to  sail  from  that 
place.  The  seducing  offers  which  were 
made  him,  induced  Jacob  to  connect  him- 
self with  the  nefarious  band,  and  in  the 
profitable  but  abominable  traffic,  his  wealth 
increased  with  rapidity.  He  found  himself, 
after  some  years,  the  entire  owner  of  a  val- 
uable ship,  which  he  continued  to  employ 
in  this  wretched  business ;  and  indeed,  it  is 
supposed,  (with  but  too  much  reason  for 


100  PRIDE    SUBDUED. 

suspicion,)  that  he  is  even  now  in  league 
with  a  company  at  Havana,  who  every 
season  fit  out  many  valuable  ships  from 
that  place  for  the  Guinea  trade.  In  this 
way  his  fortunes  rose  with  almost  unexam- 
pled celerity;  for  when  we  scruple  not  at  the 
means,  whether  they  be  good  or  whether 
they  be  evil,  there  is  little  difficulty  in 
amassing  a  fortune.  He  did  so,  by  the 
sighs  and  groans,  the  lashes  and  anguish, 
the  bitter  miseries  of  these  helpless  and  suf- 
fering slaves;  and  every  dollar,  could  it  find 
a  tongue,  would  tell  of  the  agonies  by  which 
it  has  been  obtained." 

"Oh,  dreadful ! "  exclaimed  Emily;  "  how 
dreadful !" 

"Wealth,"  continued  Mrs.  Russel,  "has 
thus  poured  in  upon  them.  His  Dolly, 
whose  beauty  is  really  brilliant  enough  to 
grace  a  better  heart,  became  a  fine  lady  ; 
they  removed  from  their  obscure  lodgings, 
and  at  last  thought  it  fitting  to  quit  alto- 
gether the  scene  of  their  early  adventures, 
and  the  vicinity  of  poor  relations.  They 
came  to  New  York,  and  entered  upon  the 
expensive  establishment  in  which  you  now 


PRIDE   SUBDUED.  101 

see  them,  surrounded  with  extravagance  and 
splendor.  For  this,  as  their  wealth,  it  is 
supposed,  is  very  great,  they  may  perhaps 
be  forgiven ;  but  to  leave  her  poor  old  wid- 
owed mother  in  such  absolute  indigence  as 
she  has,  and  to  deny  her  all  the  respect  and 
affection  which  a  daughter  owes  a  parent ; 
to  be  insensible  to  all  those  strong  obliga- 
tions which  no  circumstances  can  cancel, — 
this,  this  is  not  to  be  excused ;  and  it  is  for 
this  heartless  conduct — this  narrowness  of 
mind — this  real  vulgarity  of  character,  that 
I  turn  from  her  with  the  loathing  and  dis- 
gust you  have  noticed,  and  not  in  any  de- 
gree from  the  accident  of  her  low  origin 
and  early  poverty.  And  now  tell  me,  my 
daughter,  are  they  worthy  to  excite  that 
glow  of  pride  which  tinged  your  cheek, 
when  they  bowed  to  you,  from  their  gilded 
vehicle  ?  Are  they  deserving  that  blush  of 
shame  which  flashed  even  to  your  eyes, 
when  you  saw  them  smile  contemptuously 
at  our  recognition  of  Mrs.  Allison,  as  she 
took  her  humble  walk  by  the  wayside, 
alone  and  in  silence,  bent,  I  would  dare  as- 
sert, on  some  errand  of  mercy,  carrying 
9» 


102  PRIDE  SUBDUED. 

consolation  to  some  sufferer,  whose  wounded 
heart  she  would  soothe,  whose  sorrows  she 
would  assuage,  whose  ignorance  she  would 
enlighten,  or  whose  faith  she  would  confirm 
and  strengthen.  With  a  mind  filled  with  a 
godlike  henevolence,  she  devotes  a  portion 
of  her  scanty  pittance  to  those  whose  wants 
are  greater  than  her  own;  and  with  scarcely 
enough  for  the  necessities  of  nature,  she  yet 
contrives  to  perform  more  acts  of  charity, 
to  hush  more  sighs,  and  dry  more  tears,  than 
any  other  individual  I  have  ever  known. 
Such,  however,  is  her  unobtrusive  excellence, 
so  secret  her  deeds  of  beneficence,  that  they 
seem  to  fall  like  the  dew  of  heaven  on  the 
parched  earth,  in  the  silence  and  stillness  of 
night,  refreshing  while  unobserved.  Few, 
very  few,  besides  the  recipients  of  her  boun- 
ty, have  any  knowledge  of  its  exercise,  and 
even  those  can  scarcely  trace  the  channel 
by  which  mercy  reaches  them,  though  they 
bless  the  source.  Indeed,  my  dear  daughter, 
knowing  Mrs.  Allison  as  1  do,  I  can  never 
look  upon  her  subdued  and  humble  figure, 
contemplate  her  chastened  spirit  and  ex- 
panded benevolence  of  soul,  without  feeling 


PRIDE   SUBDUED.  103 

myself  refreshed  and  purified  by  the  obser- 
vation of  such  truly  Christian  virtues." 

Emily  sat  for  some  time  without  speak- 
ing. A  tear  trembled  on  the  long  lash  of 
her  dark  eye,  and  her  lip  quivered  with 
emotion,  when  she  broke  the  pause  which 
followed  the  last  words  of  her  excellent 
mother. 

"I  have  been  wrong,  very  wrong,"  at 
length  she  said.  "  Had  you  told  me  a  thou- 
sand times,  that  I  was  'proud,'  'unjust/ 
and  '  hasty  in  my  judgment,'  my  dear  moth- 
er, I  could  not  have  felt  it  to  be  so  really 
true,  as  I  now  do,  after  hearing  these  stories. 
I  should  not  have  seen  how  foolishly  I  was 
influenced  by  the  glare  of  fashion  and 
wealth :  but  you  do  not  know  how  much 
attention  these  Seymores  have  paid  me; 
how  much  they  have  praised  and  flattered 
me ;  and  how  many  ways  they  have  tried 
to  make  me  admire  them ;  and  how  much 
they  have  talked  about  George,  and  extolled 
his  beauty,  air  and  manners ;  and  I  do  so 
love  to  hear  my  dear  brother  admired.  But 
I  see  now,  that  I  was  growing  vain,  and 
proud,  and  silly,  and  wrong,  every  way." 


104  PRIDE   SUBDUED. 

"  No,  no,  my  dear,  not  '  every  way ;'  you 
are  now  unjust  to  yourself;  your  better  feel- 
ings were  weakened,  to  be  sure,  but  not  de- 
stroyed. Your  good  sense  was  obscured. 
You  saw  things  through  a  false  medium, 
for  you  were  dazzled,  though  not  blinded ; 
you  see  your  fault,  and  I  trust  it  is  not  quite 
too  late  to  overcome  it;  but  you  must  be 
watchful  in  the  moment  of  temptation. 
Yanity  and  pride  are  powerful  enemies  to 
contend  with ;  and  flattery,  my  child,  is  a 
weapon  often  used  with  fearful  success." 

"  You  are  so  good  and,  kind,  my  dearest 
mother,"  said  Emily,  smiling  through  her 
tears,  "  that  I  should  be  the  worst  girl  in 
the  world,  I  'm  sure,  if  I  did  not  endeavor  to 
correct  my  faults ;  and  as  to  that  good  Mrs. 
Allison,  I  do  hope  I  shall  never  appear  dis- 
respectful to  her  again,  if  the  Seymores 
laugh  directly  in  my  face ;  and  yet  I  think 
it  is  unpleasant  enough  too,  such  scornful 
looks  as  they  give." 

"  It  is  not  pleasant,  my  daughter,  certain- 
ly ;  it  is  a  temptation ;  but  recollect  that  you 
would  wound  one  of  the  purest  and  best  of 
hearts,  render  yourself  guilty  in  your  own 


PRIDE  SUBDUED.  105 

eyes,  and  above  all,  offend  your  heavenly 
Father,  if,  after  so  much  warning  and  so 
much  instruction,  you  should  fear  to  do 
right,  least  you  should  excite  the  ridicule  of 
these  fashionable  ladies." 

It  was,  however,  many  months  after  this, 
before  Emily  again  saw  Mrs.  Allison.  The 
wealth  and  splendor  of  the  Seymores, 
whose  origin  and  characters  were  little  un- 
derstood by  their  associates,  had  opened  for 
them  an  intercourse  with  the  most  respecta- 
ble and  fashionable  society.  The  beauty  of 
the  ladies,  together  with  a  facility  and 
quickness  in  catching  the  manners  and  eti- 
quette of  those  with  whom  they  mingled, 
had  thrown  an  air  of  seeming  gentility 
around  them,  which  was  accepted  by  many, 
in  the  place  of  real  good  breeding.  Emily 
constantly  met  them  in  every  fashionable 
circle;  and  such  were  the  attentions,  such  the 
court  paid  them,  and  so  numerous  the  grati- 
fications which  she  enjoyed  through  the 
medium  of  their  acquaintance,  that  the  con- 
versation she  had  held  with  her  mother 
about  them,  and  the  feelings  it  had  pro- 
duced, had  been  gradually  effaced  from  her 


106  PRIDE  SUBDUED. 

mind.  She  saw  them  admired,  and  sought 
for ;  and  forgot  to  consider  their  real  claims 
upon  her  regard.  No  circumstance  had  oc- 
curred to  draw  from  them  an  exhibition  of 
that  low  pride,  the  unfailing  indication  of  a 
vulgar  mind,  which  she  had  witnessed  with 
regard  to  Mrs.  Allison.  Emily,  too,  soon 
forgot  that  they  were  not  good  as  well  as 
rich,  wise  as  well  as  fashionable. 

It  happened  one  fine  evening,  that  she 
was  returning  from  a  walk  on  the  Battery, 
with  a  number  of  the  most  fashionable  of 
her  acquaintance,  among  whom  were  the 
beautiful  Seymores,  when  Ann,  suddenly 
bursting  into  a  rude  laugh,  and  pointing 
with  her  pretty  taper  finger,  glittering  with 
diamonds,  before  her,  said  most  sarcastical- 
ly— "Look  !  look  !  Miss  Russel,  there  comes 
your  interesting  friend,  the  lady  of  the  par- 
ty-colored bonnet.  Oh,  what  a  figure  it  is  !  " 
she  added  contemptuously:  "I  think  she 
must  be  one  of  Noah's  family,  recently  from 
the  ark  of  safety.  Do  look  at  that  dress  ! 
positively  made  in  the  year  one ;  great  scarci- 
ty of  silk,  I  'm  thinking,  that  same  year;  two 
breadths  of  three-quarters  width,  perhaps. 


PRIDE  SUBDUED.  107 

Do  you  behold  the  dame,  Lawson  ? — if  you 
could  but  obtain  the  article  for  your  collec- 
tion of  curiosities — but  come,  Miss  Russel, 
prepare  your  best  bow,  for  this  specimen 
of  the  fashions  before  the  flood." 

Emily,  at  the  commencement  of  this 
speech,  and  the  view  of  Mrs.  Allison's  rusty 
and  primitive  appearance,  contrasted  with 
the  gay  party  beside  her,  felt  a  burning 
blush  of  shame  and  mortification  flush  her 
cheek.  She  even  began  with  indignation  to 
expostulate,  and  exculpate  herself  from  the 
charge  of  being  the  "  friend"  of  such  a  per- 
son;— but  turning  to  look  haughtily  at  the  ill- 
bred  speaker,  she  saw  along  with  the  exulta- 
tion which  was  in  her  eye,  the  same  expres- 
sion of  contempt — the  upturned  nose,  and 
the  mouth  drawn  down,  which  was  stamped 
upon  her  countenance  the  day  she  had 
passed  them  as  they  were  bowing  to  Mrs. 
Allison.  All  the  feelings,  all  the  circumstances 
of  that  period,  all  the  subsequent  conversa- 
tion with  her  mother,  returned  like  a  flash 
of  lightning  to  her  memory — all  that  she  had 
heard  of  the  two  characters,  her  repentant 
tears,  her  virtuous  resolves,  her  mother's 


108  PRIDE  SUBDUED. 

admonitions,  and  her  own  humble  promises. 
There  was  a  momentary  struggle  with  her 
unworthy  pride,  but  it  was  subdued;  and 
she  replied  with  a  firm  voice — "I  am  not 
ashamed  to  own  that  I  am  her  friend ;  she 
is  as  good  as  she  is  poor,  Miss  Seymore," 
and  she  was  ready,  as  Mrs.  Allison  passed 
by  her,  to  bow  with  marked  respect.  To  her 
surprise,  Mrs.  Allison  addressed  her,  though 
with  evident  reluctance,  least  she  should 
inflict  mortification. 

"  Forgive  the  intrusion,  Miss  Russel,  but 
will  you  have  the  goodness  to  tell  me  where 
I  may  find  your  mother  7  I  have  very 
pressing  need  of  her  advice  and  assistance 
for  a  suffering  friend,"  she  added  in  a  low 
tone.  "  I  am  quite  sure  of  obtaining  both  if 
I  can  but  make  my  wants  known.  I  have 
been  already  to  your  house,  but  she  is  not 
there." 

"I  will  go  for  her  this  moment,"  said 
Emily.  "I  think  she  is  at  my  aunt  Mer- 
cer's, and  I  am  certain  she  will  thankfully 
assist  you  if  she  can." 

"  Do  not  let  me  take  you  from  your  par- 
ty, my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Allison.  "  I  will  go 
myself  for  your  mother." 


PRIDE   SUBDUED.  109 

"I  will  accompany  you,  then,  if  you 
please,"  replied  Emily,  with  a  warmth  and 
sweetness  which  conquering  virtue  always 
inspires.  "  I  too  may  he  useful." 

Emily  heard  the  tittering,  and  the  sar- 
casms of  the  fashionable  party  hefore  her ; 
they  had  passed  on,  and  still  lingered  for 
her.  But  the  struggle  was  over,  the  victory 
obtained;  and  indignation  now  aided  her 
virtuous  resolution,  particularly  as  she  saw, 
by  the  varying  countenance  of  Mrs.  Allison, 
that  she  was  in  no  degree  insensible  to  the 
indecency  of  their  conduct,  or  ignorant  of 
its  cause ;  but  as  Emily  offered  her  arm  to 
the  old  lady,  she  looked  in  the  face  of  the 
lovely  girl,  with  an  expression  of  benignity, 
gratitude  and  admiration,  so  pure  and  holy, 
that  it  reached  the  soul  of  Emily.  This 
was  for  her  one  of  those  moments  of  un- 
mingled  delight,  which  our  heavenly  Father 
bestows  as  the  sweetest  reward  and  strength- 
ener  of  virtue,  after  a  successful  conflict 
within. 

"  Think  not,  my  sweet  girl,"  at  length 
she  said,  "  that  a  victory  like  this  you  have 
just  achieved  passes  unobserved  by  that 
10 


110  PRIDE  SUBDUED. 

great  Being  who  searches  the  heart.  You 
look  inquiringly,  and  would  ask,  how  I  can 
know  your  secret  conflicts ;  but  believe  me, 
observation,  experience,  and,  I  would  add, 
suffering,  makes  us  clear-sighted  in  these 
things ;  they  enable  us  to  read  the  counte- 
nance, and  look  into  the  heart,  when  the 
young  think  that  all  is  concealed.  Your 
friends,  however,  have  not  usually,  they 
have  not  now,  made  their  remarks  in  a 
whisper;  their  voices  came  loud  upon  the 
wind,  and  reached  me,  before  I  knew  from 
whom  they  came ;  it  was  not  a  new  or  un- 
common sound  to  my  ears.  I  saw  on  ap- 
proaching, the  blush  upon  your  cheek,  and 
the  momentary  hesitation  you  felt.  I  caught 
your  answer,  and  I  see '  your  victory  !  God 
has  strengthened  you  to  subdue  the  rising 
pride,  and  will  reward  the  effort.  For 
you,  I  rejoice  ; — such  a  conquest  over 
the  frailties  of  our  nature,  brings  in  a  rich 
harvest  of  virtues  ;  but  for  myself,  it  is  long 
since  I  have  learned,  though  not  without 
suffering,  to  look  upon  such  scoffs  only  with 
commiseration.  The  arrows  fall  pointless, 
when  we  keep  the  eye  steadily  directed  to 


PRIDE   SUBDUED.  Ill 

that  infinite  Being,  who,  though  he  permit 
the  trials,  is  ever  ready  to  strengthen  us  to 
meet  them." 

They  now  reached  the  residence  of  Mrs. 
Mercer,  where  Emily  found  her  mother. 

A  beaming  glance  from  her  maternal  eye, 
as  it  turned  rapidly  from  one  to  the  other, 
showed  Emily  that  all  was  understood  by 
her  watchful  parent.  The  necessities  of  the 
case  in  hand,  were  soon  made  known.  Mrs. 
Allison  told  the  story  of  her  afflicted  friend, 
which  excited  all  the  sympathy  she  expect- 
ed. Emily  was  permitted  to  accompany 
them  on  their  visit  of  mercy,  and  there  she 
saw  Mrs.  Allison  in  her  true  and  elevated 
character,  like  an  angel  of  peace,  pouring 
consolation  and  hope  into  a  wounded  heart. 
She  saw  the  high  and  noble  aim  of  her  life, 
meeting  its  pure  reward  in  the  comfort  and 
joy  she  shed  around  her  footsteps. 

The  afflicted  blessed  her,  the  sick  felt  the 
efficient  aid  of  her  increasing  attentions. 
After  administering  all  the  assistance  re- 
quired by  the  occasion,  Mrs.  Allison  pre- 
pared to  pass  the  night  with  the  distressed 
friend,  while  her  companions  retraced  their 


112  PRIDE   SUBDUED. 

steps  to  their  own  happier  dwelling.  Emily 
retired  to  her  own  room  in  silence.  Seated 
at  the  open  casement,  and  fixing  her  eye  on 
the  bright  blue  sky  thickly  inlaid  with  its 
glittering  gems,  she  thought  over  the  events 
of  the  last  few  hours,  and  searched  her 
heart  and  its  feelings.  The  words  of  Mrs. 
Allison,  and  her  saint-like  expression  of 
countenance,  had  penetrated  its  deepest  re- 
cesses; she  sighed,  and  a  repentant  tear 
stole  down  her  cheek,  when  she  remembered 
the  strong  emotion  of  mortification  which 
swelled  her  bosom  at  the  first  coarse  de- 
rision of  her  unworthy  companions. 

"  I  ought  to  have  remembered  my  resolu- 
tions better,"  said  she  to  herself.  "Why  did 
I  allow  my  foolish  pride  to  rise — almost  to 
overpower  them,  at  this  first  temptation? 
Did  I  not  promise  myself,  that  if  I  should 
ever  be  placed  in  such  circumstances  again, 
I  would  be  firm  to  my  duty  ?  Did  I  not 
solemnly  promise  myself,  that  I  would  not 
be  overcome  by  the  dread  of  their  contempt, 
or  fears  of  their  laughter  1  I  was  wrong, 
very  wrong;  but  I  thank  my  heavenly 
Father  that  it  was  soon  over.  How  much  I 


PRIDE   SUBDUED.  113 

should  have  felt  of  unavailing  regret, — how 
much  I  must  have  lost  too,  if  I  had  not 
resisted  these  unworthy  feelings  at  last." 

It  was  not  long  after  this  period,  that 
some  circumstances  came  to  the  knowledge 
of  the  community,  which  awakened  strong 
suspicions  and  distrust  of  Mr.  Seymore,  and 
he  found  himself  most  uncomfortably  situ- 
ated. Rumors  began  to  circulate  through 
the  fashionable  circles  of  the  city,  respecting 
their  early  history  and  sudden  rise  of  for- 
tune. The  arrival  of  a  family  from  Boston, 
to  whom  the  whole  was  known,  and  who 
had  not  that  repugnance  to  speak  of  the 
dark  side  of  another's  character,  for  which 
Mrs.  Russel  was  distinguished,  confirmed 
all  the  whispered  suspicions.  They  were 
soon  neglected  by  the  fashionable  for  their 
vulgarity;  despised  by  the  good  for  their 
vices,  and  "cut,"  as  the  phrase  is,  by  all 
simultaneously.  It  was  at  this  most  unfor- 
tunate juncture  of  their  lives,  that  some 
unsuccessful  speculations,  added  to  the 
boundless  extravagance  in  which  they  had 
indulged,  was  found  to  have  robbed  this 
unhappy  family  of  all  their  ill-gotten  wealth. 
10* 


114  PRIDE  SUBDUED. 

It  is  needless  and  disgusting  to  trace  the  ef- 
fects of  such  reverses  upon  such  characters. 
They  had  nothing  to  sustain  them  under 
these  accumulated  misfortunes.  Poor,  mis- 
erable, and  despised,  they  sunk  to  obscurity 
with  as  much  celerity  as  they  had  risen 
from  it.  Mr.  Seymore  fled  from  the  coun- 
try to  avoid  the  odium  which  fixed  upon 
him.  His  wretched  wife  became  the  vic- 
tim of  intemperance,  and  .died  a  martyr  to 
the  poison.  Poor  Ann,  after  vainly  strug- 
gling against  it,  was  obliged  to  seek  in  Bos- 
ton a  shelter  in  the  asylum  of  the  poor;  all 
her  relatives  had  been  exceedingly  indigent, 
and  unable,  if  willing,  to  save  her  from  this 
fate.  The  neglect  of  their  rich  relatives 
had  not  served  to  soften  their  hearts  to  pity, 
and  they  rather  exulted  in  this  downfall  of 
pride. 

"Hmily  was  exceedingly  shocked  by  these 
events.  Her  mind  was  deeply  impressed 
with  such  a  powerful  instance  of  retributive 
justice.  While  she  sat  musing  on  this  sub- 
ject, and  revolving  in  her  mind  the  singular 
course  of  these  two  individuals,  who,  but  a 
short  time  back  had  caused  her  so  sore  a 


PRIDE   SUBDUED.  115 

conflict, — while  she  renewed  her  resolutions 
and  determined  to  model  her  own  character 
by  that  of  Mrs.  Allison's,  and  to  walk  in 
her  steps,  and  to  strive  for  her  spirit,  Mrs. 
Russel  entered  her  room  with  a  flushed  face, 
and  her  eyes  brightened  with  the  joy  of  her 
heart. 

"  I  have  something  here,  my  dear  Emily, 
that  I  am  sure  will  rejoice  you.  It  is  a  let- 
ter from  Mrs.  Allison,  inclosing  one  she  has 
just  received  from  England.  I  should  not 
have  called  so  confidently  upon  your  sym- 
pathy in  the  happiness  of  so  poor  and  hum- 
ble a  being,  one  year  since,  my  child ;  but 
you  have  learned  that  poverty  and  "  vulgar- 
ity "  are  not  always  inseparable,  and  to  re- 
spect virtue  though  in  the  meanest  vest- 
ments. You  deserve,  then,  to  unite  in  the 
joy  I  feel  at  this  moment. 

"  Oh  tell  me,  what  is  it,  mother?  I  am  sure 
I  shall  be  delighted,  sincerely  delighted,  in 
any  happiness  that  reaches  Mrs.  Allison. 
I  owe  her  much  for  the  instruction  she  has 
given  me,  and  for  all  I  have  learned  by  my 
intercourse  with  her  in  the  dwellings  of  the 
miserable,  and  suffering,  and  sorrowful, 


11C  PRIDE   SUBDUED. 

where  she  has  so  kindly  permitted  me  to  go 
with  her ;  but  tell  me  what  has  happened  to 
her,  if  you  please,  mother." 

"  This  letter  is  from  the  executor  of  Mr. 
Allison's  youngest  brother.  This  brother 
has  recently  died,  and  has  left  her  twenty 
thousand  pounds  !  which  will  be  a  most 
ample  fortune  for  her.  The  letter  contains 
many  compliments  on  Mrs.  Allison's  scru- 
pulous delicacy,  in  never  making  known  to 
her  husband's  family  the  extent  of  her  pe- 
cuniary embarrassments,  which  came  but 
by  accident  to  the  knowledge  of  the  deceas- 
ed but  a  few  months  previous  to  his  death. 
Some  kind  friend,  with  the  hope  of  obtain- 
ing a  bequest  for  this  estimable  woman, 
made  an  effort  to  interest  the  old  bachelor, 
the  last  of  Mr.  Allison's  family,  in  her 
favor,  it  would  seem,  without  the  smallest 
idea  but  that  all  the  circumstances  of  her 
situation  were  known  to  him.  The  good 
man,  as  appears  from  this  letter,  was  much 
shocked  by  the  information  he  obtained, 
and  without  loss  of  time  made  an  alteration 
in  his  will  to  provide  for  her.  He  ex- 
pressed great  regret  that  she  had  so  carefully 


PRIDE   SUBDUED.  117 

concealed  from  his  scrutiny  so  many  impor- 
tant circumstances  of  her  situation.  Mrs. 
Allison,  as  you  will  see  by  these  few  lines, 
which  she  has  sent  me,  meets  with  this 
happy  reverse  with  the  same  Christian 
meekness  that  distinguished  her  in  adver- 
sity. It  appears  to  me  that  her  character 
rises  in  dignity  with  every  change  of  for- 
tune. But  I  will  read  all  to  you,  and  then 
we  will  rejoice  together.  She  is  confident, 
she  tells  me,  that  she  shall  have  our  sym- 
pathy in  all  her  feelings  at  this  moment.  " 

"  Yes,  indeed !  "  exclaimed  Emily,  whose 
heart  was  full  of  the  most  disinterested  joy ; 
"but  how  wonderful  it  is,  mother  !  I  was 
but  this  moment  thinking  of  the  Seymores, 
and  their  wretched  fate,  and  remembering, 
as  if  it  had  happened  but  yesterday,  all  that 
I  thought  and  felt  only  one. year  since  of 
them  and  of  Mrs.  Allison.  What  a  striking 
lesson  their  history  affords." 

"It  is  most  true,  my  daughter.  It  is 
rarely  indeed  that  we  have  an  opportunity  of 
seeing  the  just  rewards  of  virtue  and  of  vice 
so  fully  exhibited.  This  world  affords,  gen- 
erally speaking,  only  the  trials  of  virtue ;  a 


118  PRIDE    SUBDUED. 

future  and  a  better  world  dispenses  its  re- 
wards. May  the  lesson  be  to  you  as  deeply 
impressed  as  it  is  clearly  illustrated,  and 
you  will  learn  in  humble  imitation  of  your 
heavenly  Father,  to  look  through  the  glitter 
of  wealth,  and  the  rust  of  poverty,  to  the 
heart  and  life,  and  according  to  the  purity 
and  excellence  there  discernible,  give  your 
respect  and  your  affection  ;  and  by  this  same 
rule,  judge  of  your  own  title  to  the  respect 
and  affection  of  your  friends.  For  such  is 
the  test  by  which  we  must  all  be  tried, 
when  this  world  and  its  allurements  have 
passed  away,  and  we  stand  before  him  who 
sitteth  in  judgment  above." 


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